Caelestis--Remastered
by MissLindaLee
Summary: As the Kents prepare for their first Thanksgiving with Linda, Winslow Schott-aka Toyman-decides to return to Metropolis with his deadly arsenal. Meanwhile, in the wake of Dr. Swann's death, Clark and Linda make a startling discovery regarding their Kryptonian heritage. (Seventh story in the remastered Angelica Corsusca series)
1. Chapter 1

The weather was a chilly twenty degrees, but the Saturday morning sun shone brightly, as if it was the middle of summer. Inside Linda's bedroom, the young girl stared intently at the mishmash of different clothes, hats, and other assorted items piled on her bed.

"You keep staring like that and you'll burn holes through everything—literally."

Linda smiled as she looked over and saw Clark leaning against the doorframe, holding a large ceramic coffee mug with 'Allons-y' on one side and 'Geronimo' on the other; it was filled three quarters of the way with hot chocolate and a huge dollop of whipped cream. "Gotcha some cocoa, just the way you like it." He headed over to her, handing her the mug. "Figured the mug would help with your decision making."

"Thanks," Linda replied as she took the offered mug and took a long gulp of the hot liquid; she wiped the whipped cream from her upper lip. "Unfortunately, this is something that even hot chocolate might not be able to help with. I mean, we're talking about the fiftieth anniversary episode of Doctor Who—it's an important day."

"Yes, the 'Day of the Doctor,'" Clark replied in a mock British accent.

Linda held out her hand and her sonic screwdriver flew through the air into her hand; she pointed it at her cousin in a mock threatening manner. "Do not mock the Doctor in my presence, sir, or I shall be forced to teach you a lesson." The two stared at each other for a few moments, then laughed.

"So, you're really having trouble finding something to wear for tonight?" Clark asked. "I mean, I understand you and Jimmy want to wear costumes, but why don't you go as the one you dressed up during Spirit Week?"

"Because Jimmy wanted to go as Ten," Linda answered as she put her mug and screwdriver on her desk.

"So, what about the other one?" Clark asked.

"Because Cutter liked being Eleven so much at the party that he asked to keep my fez and bowtie," Linda answered, "and I couldn't say no to that." She stared at her clothes, pursing her lips, when Krypto bounded in, barking loudly. He skittered to a stop at Clark's feet, staring up at the reporter, tail wagging, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

Clark leaned over and scratched the puppy behind his ears, then he glanced over at Linda, who was grinning as she rummaged around in the pile of clothes. "Something tells me you've made your decision."

Linda pulled out a long hand-knitted, multi-colored scarf—wrapping it loosely around her neck a couple of times—then put on a brown, floppy fedora she grabbed from the top of the pile. She held her hands out, smiling down at her cousin. "What do you think?"

"I think you've gone a little colorblind," Clark replied, amused.

Linda grabbed her mug and quickly downed the rest of her hot chocolate; she smacked her lips, grinning before she held up her mug so Clark could see the words on the bottom of the inside. "As Nine would say," she said, "'fantastic.'"

* * *

Later that afternoon Clark sat at his desk, staring intently at the police report in his hands. He didn't normally come in on weekends, but Perry had insisted he and Lois take the case, so Clark hurried (aka flew in from Smallville), promising Linda—ten times—before he left that he'd bring Jimmy over later that night.

The reported sighed as he leaned back in his chair, rereading the details of the case: a local politician had been found in his office, shot through the heart. Nothing new—Clark had, unfortunately, investigated several homicides throughout his life—but what disturbed him about this particular case was the murder weapon itself: a large toy soldier, holding a tiny revolver designed to fire tiny—but deadly—bullets.

"Schott," he said softly.

"Unfortunately."

Clark looked up and saw Lois as she walked over. "Hey," he said as she leaned over and kissed his cheek before sitting on the edge of the desk. "Any special reason for that?"

"Because I was hoping you'd take me out to dinner tonight?" Lois suggested, smiling.

"Can't tonight," Clark said apologetically. "It's the 'Day of the Doctor.'"

Lois groaned. "Oh, yeah, that," she said. She knew about Jimmy and Linda's plans, and how Clark had promised to help chaperone. "I had mercifully forgotten about that until now."

"Unfortunately, Linda won't let me," Clark joked, smiling.

Lois smiled a little. "My condolences."

"So, the reporters are now comedians," Jimmy said, smiling slightly, as he walked up to the desk with a stack of photos, his camera bag slung over his left shoulder. "I'd personally stick with your day jobs."

"So, Perry roped you in as well?" Lois asked, smiling.

Jimmy shrugged. "Guess so," he said, "and I got quite a few shots, too." He handed the photos to Clark, and Lois leaned forward to get a better view. "Couldn't get anywhere near the crime scene, obviously, but I did manage to get a few shots of one of the items the police carried out: a large toy soldier holding a pistol. Also heard some of the cops talking. They're saying it's Toyman." He glanced at Clark briefly, who glanced briefly at him before looking back at the photos.

"There's a name I was hoping I'd never hear again," Lois muttered. "You know I can't even **look** at a teddy bear anymore because of that guy."

"At least you can blink around a teddy bear," Jimmy pointed out.

"I told you never to make reference to those things in my presence, Olsen," Lois warned him.

"Hey, I warned you not to let that be your first episode," Jimmy said, "especially alone at night."

"And that is why I don't watch that show," Lois replied, smiling, "and I still think you and Linda are both nuts for liking it." She stood up and headed for the vending machines.

"You know, you're never going to convince Lois to like the show," Clark said, amused.

"I know," Jimmy answered, "but it's still fun ribbing her." He glanced at the reporter as he stared at the photos intently. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Clark replied, "just trying to figure out what Schott's game is this time." He glanced up at Jimmy, "and don't get any ideas about looking into this any further."

"What?" Jimmy asked, looking innocent.

"Jimmy, Schott's dangerous," Clark replied seriously, keeping his voice down. "He killed five people last time he was in town—and that was **before** he used you and Lois as bait to get to me."

"Yeah, but you gotta admit the giant spider robot was actually kinda cool," Jimmy, smiling a little. He glanced down and saw Clark's unamused expression; his smile faded. "Okay, okay, I get it. Leave the psycho to Superman."

"Thank you," Clark replied, smiling a little. "Now, switching subjects, Linda wanted me to remind you—again, for the fiftieth time—not to forget the 3D glasses."

"I got them at the apartment next my costume," Jimmy said. He saw Clark's expression and smiled. "We know the TV's not in 3D, Clark; it's the principle of the matter."

"I'm not saying anything," Clark said, "I'm just chaperoning, and that's all I'm planning on doing."

(End of Chapter 1)


	2. Chapter 2

It was nearly seven in the evening when Superman landed on the gravel drive outside the scallop fence of the Kent Farm. He carefully put Jimmy down, and the photographer straightened the suit and tie of his costume while the hero spun in a circle, changing into his civilian clothes.

"You know, I've been meaning to ask you where you keep your clothes when you change," Jimmy said, amused as he and Clark headed toward the house.

"Trade secret," Clark replied with a smile as they walked up the stairs. He opened the door and walked in with Jimmy behind. "Hey, guys, we're here."

Martha looked up from the pie crusts she was working on for the next week and smiled. "Hi, you two," she said.

"Hey, Mom," Clark said as he walked over and kissed her cheek before glancing into the living room. "Where's Linda?"

"Upstairs," Martha replied, "putting the last touches on her costume; she'll be down soon."

"I thought I heard a familiar whoosh," Jonathan said as he came in. He shut the door and smiled at Jimmy, holding out his hand. "Jimmy, good to see you again." He tilted his head slightly, glancing at Jimmy's costume—blue pinstripe suit, red converse shoes, and a long brown coat; the farmer smiled, amused. "You are Jimmy, aren't you?"

"Usually," Jimmy replied, smiling a little as he shook the farmer's hand. "Thanks for letting me come over, Mr. Kent."

"You're more than welcome anytime," Jonathan replied, smiling warmly.

"Oh, that reminds me," Martha said. "Jimmy, are you and your mother doing anything next week?"

"Well, Mom's gonna be out in Vegas again," Jimmy answered, "so I'm kinda gonna be on my own, actually."

"For Thanksgiving?" Jonathan asked, noticing the subtle change in Jimmy's expression and tone. "No, you can spend the day with us."

"I don't want to intrude," Jimmy replied shrugging. "I'll be fine—I can get a few of those 'Hungry Man' frozen turkey dinners."

"Jimmy, we insist you join us," Martha replied as she continued working on her dough. "Besides, it'll be Linda's first Thanksgiving; I'm sure she'd love having you over."

Jimmy sighed and closed his eyes briefly; he could not believe he was being guilt-tripped—by his friends' mother. "Okay, okay," he said, "I'll come, I promise."

Jonathan chuckled and patted Jimmy's shoulder. "Why don't you go wait in the living room? Linda should be down soon." Jimmy nodded and left the kitchen, leaving the Kents alone. Jonathan glanced over at his wife, seeing the slight curl of her mouth. "Martha Kent, you are horrible."

"What?" Martha asked innocently as she continued working on the dough. "I didn't say anything that wasn't true."

"I never thought I'd see my own mother manipulating people through guilt," Clark added, amused.

"I'm only doing it so Jimmy isn't sitting alone in his apartment on Thanksgiving," Martha replied. "I know Sarah's trying hard to provide for the two of them, but it just seems like Jimmy's being left behind; to be honest, I don't remember the last time the two of them actually spent a holiday together."

"And that wouldn't be happening at all if his father wasn't a deadbeat coward," Jonathan muttered.

"Can we not bring him up now?" Martha asked, glancing briefly toward the living room. Jonathan sighed and nodded; Martha smiled. "Now, I have your paper on the table; Clark, I brought down 'To Kill A Mockingbird.'"

"Good, now I can pretend I'm doing something else while eavesdropping," Clark joked.

"You will do no such thing," Martha replied, smiling. Clark grinned as he and Jonathan headed for the table.

* * *

Jimmy slowly walked around the couch and furniture, trying to ignore the tight feeling in his stomach. He knew it was stupid feeling nervous—he and Linda were just going to watch their favorite show together—but he couldn't help it. He glanced around the living room at the string of TARDIS lights hung up over the window, the coffee table with two plates with a fish fingers and French fry 'chips' and two cups filled with a nonalcoholic 'sonic screwdriver' punch (made of orange, peach, and lemon juices) and then looked around at the numerous Doctor Who Cubees placed around the room, the teenager felt a little more at ease as he smiled, amused; he still couldn't believe just how obsessed Linda had become with the show over the span of a few months.

The sound of pattering feet caused Jimmy to look over at the stairs as Krypto came bounding down, wearing a handmade cardboard K-9 costume. The puppy trotted into the living room and stopped at Jimmy's feet; he glanced up at the teenager and barked once, tail wagging.

"So, she managed to rope you into this, huh?" Jimmy asked, amused. Krypto's tail wagged faster. Jimmy sighed and shook his head, smiling. "I hear ya, boy; she is hard to say no to, huh?" He reached into his coat and pulled out a pair of old fashioned 3D glasses—the white cardboard frames with the red and blue lens—and put them on. "So, how do I look?"

"'Good looks are no substitute for a sound character.'" Jimmy looked toward the stairs as Linda walked down, smiling. She wore a white, button-down dress shirt, tucked into a black wool skirt that stopped just above her knees; over the shirt was a dark brown cardigan with diamonds, and over that a rust-brown corduroy blazer that stopped at mid-calf. Her hair hung loose under the floppy fedora, and a pair of brown, knee-high lace-up buckle military combat boots, the multi-colored scarf, and a replica of the Fourth Doctor's screwdriver completed her ensemble.

"Luckily, you have both," Linda continued as she stopped just inside the living room. "Hi, Jimmy."

Jimmy just stared at her, dumbfounded, his mouth slightly open. "Uh…hi," he replied slowly after a few seconds.

"So, what do you think?" Linda asked as she turned around.

Jimmy carefully raised his glasses until they were resting on top of his head as his eyes slowly drifted south. "Uh…you're wearing a skirt…again," he remarked, "and, uh…boots, too."

"Is that a good thing?" Linda asked coyly as she walked over.

"Oh, yeah," Jimmy replied, smiling; he glanced up at Linda, and his smile quickly faded as his cheeks grew warm. "Uh, I mean…they, uh, look good together…with the rest of the costume."

"Thanks," Linda said before she went over to the coffee table and sat down before fiddling with the plates. "So, what do you think of K-9 Krypto?"

"I think it's creative," Jimmy replied as he joined her, "though I'm a little surprised you didn't dress up Streaky as well."

"Actually, I attempted to," Linda replied. "I made her a little Sister of Plenitude costume. When I tried putting it on her, she hissed and swatted at me; she's been hiding under my bed ever since."

Jimmy chuckled. "Well, hey, at least you have your faithful companion, Doctor," he said.

"Thank you, Doctor," Linda replied in a horribly fake British accent, smiling. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a yellow candy bag opened on one side; she held it out to Jimmy. "Would you like a jelly baby?"

"Most definitely," Jimmy answered in an equally horrible British accent as he grabbed a few of the candies; he popped them in his mouth and chewed.

Linda grabbed the T.V. remote. "So, are we ready?" she asked.

Jimmy nodded. "Allons-y," he replied. He grabbed one of the cups and held it up; Linda grabbed her cup and followed suit. "To fifty years of Doctor Who: for giving us a madman in a blue box that travels across time and space, for making us laugh, for making us shed a tear—and for making us scared of mannequins, gas masks, angel statues, blinking, shadows, tally marks, cracks in walls, astronauts, and snowmen."

"Here, here," Linda replied. The two clinked their cups together; they took sips as they settled in on the couch.

* * *

 _"Doctor, what's going on?"_

 _"It's a…timey-wimey thing."_

 _"Timey what? Timey wimey?"_

 _"I've no idea where he picks that stuff up."_

Linda and Jimmy snickered as they sat on the couch munched on their food, both wearing their 3D glasses.

"You know," Linda said after she swallowed a mouthful of French fries, "if you really think about it, the Doctor's trying to get himself out of trouble with himself—by blaming himself."

"Yeah," Jimmy said, nodding in agreement. "It's a shame they couldn't get Eccleston; if it wasn't for him, Doctor Who might've never happened."

"Uh, huh," Linda replied, smirking. "He was pretty fantastic."

"But Tennant was awesome, too," Jimmy said, smirking back as he straightened his 3D glasses. "None of the other Doctors had the universe sing to **them** as they regenerated."

"Don't go there," Linda warned gently. "You know that makes me cry every time I watch it."

"You know how his favorite phrase was 'Allons-y,'" Jimmy continued, "and then the last thing he said before he regenerated was—"

"'I don't want to go,'" the teenagers said simultaneously.

Linda groaned as she leaned back. "Sometimes, I think Davies was a masochist," she said, "torturing us like that." She sighed as she grabbed her drink and gulped it down, smacking her lips softly as they continued watching.

 _"I demand to be_ _incarcerated in the Tower immediately with my co-conspirators, Sand Shoes and Granddad."_

 _"'Granddad'?"_

 _"They're not sand shoes!"_

Bright white light suddenly blinded Linda's vision—almost as if a camera flash had gone off right in front of her—causing the young girl to reflexively squeeze her eyes shut.

(End of Chapter 2)


	3. Chapter 3

_"And what's that one?"_

 _The soft sound of a child's voice—and the smell of something sweet in the air—confused Linda; something was wrong, she could feel it. The teenager opened her eyes—which quickly widened in shock._

 _Somehow, Linda had been transported instantly to a beach, but it wasn't any beach she recognized: the sky was a light golden color and watermelon pink waves crashed against bright teal sand, washing over Linda's feet. She gasped reflexively at the cold water and quickly looked down as her bare toes sunk into the wet sand—and she saw herself wearing the clothes she had worn when she'd arrived on Earth; it took her a few moments to realize the sweet smell came from the breeze as it blew in from the ocean, whipping her loose hair around wildly. Linda furrowed her eyebrows as she tucked strands behind her ears; it all seemed alien to her, yet strangely familiar._

 _"That, my dear, is the immature stage of the giant malc."_

 _Linda stiffened, her eyes slowly widening, as she recognized the deep but gentle brogue. She slowly turned to her left and saw a group of rocks in and near the edge of the water; some of the rocks formed a semicircle in the water, waves crashing over them into shallow tidal pools between the rocks. Linda inhaled sharply as she saw a dark-haired man and little blonde girl kneeling on the flat rocks, peering into one of the tidal pools. Thy both wore what appeared to be sleeveless wetsuits that stopped just above their knees—the man's was a rich coffee brown, while the girl's was a light ice blue; their hair dripped with water, indicating they had been swimming recently, but Linda focused all of her attention on the man. He looked about thirty years younger since the last time she'd seen him—when he had helped her escape to Earth—but Linda recognized him instantly._

 _"Rok-Var?" she asked, confused. "What's going on?"_

 _"It takes about four amzeto for them to fully mature," Rok-Var contined, not even acknowledging Linda's presence as he grinned at the girl and ruffled her damp hair, "but you already know that, my Kara."_

 _Furrowing her eyebrows, Linda focused on the little girl as she looked up at Rok-Var—and her eyes widened in shock as she found herself looking at an an eight-year-old version of herself. Linda was scared and confused, but she found herself slowly moving toward the two._

 _"Can I hold it?" the little girl asked as she plunged her hand into the tidal pool._

 _"Kara, watch out for the ele!" Rok-Var shouted as he reached to grab the little girl's arm. Kara shouted in pain right before her entire body convulsed; her eyes rolled back into her head as she collapsed into Rok-Var's arms; the veins on the back of her hand had already turned a sickly purple color, and her entire hand had started swelling as the poison quickly spread toward her arm. Linda watched as the color drained from Rok-Var's face, his eyes wide with fear as he held the unconscious girl in his arms like a limp ragdoll, trying to rouse her. "Kara!"_

 _Linda watched as Rok-Var, clinging to the unresponsive girl in his arms, quickly got to his feet and hurried from the water's edge. Linda watched him head toward a group of two men and two women, who were already running in his direction; the teenager squinted and shielded her eyes with her hand, trying to make out their faces, but everything around her suddenly faded into white._

* * *

Linda opened her eyes, gasping loudly as her heart pounded in her chest. She jerked her head from side to side, trying to get her bearings. She was back in her living room, dressed in her costume, sitting on the couch, the television still on with the show still going, and Jimmy stared at Linda with more concern than she had ever remember seeing.

"What happened?" the young girl asked, trying to get her breathing back to normal, her heart racing.

"You tell me," Jimmy answered softly. "You were just sitting here, watching the movie, then you just shut your eyes tightly and grabbed the sides of your head. I thought maybe your superhearing was coming in, but you said 'Rok-Var, what's going on?' right before you grabbed your right hand and repeated 'It hurts so much' several times before you gasped and opened your eyes again."

Linda furrowed her eyebrows before she glanced down in her lap. She clutched her right hand so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. She quickly let go and saw the red impression of her fingers fade into the normal pink hue of the rest of her skin.

"What happened?" Jimmy asked.

"Nothing," Linda replied, trying to sound nonchalant. Jimmy just stared at her, not believing her; his gaze was so piercing that Linda sighed, frustrated, as she dropped her voice. "Fine, it was a vision, okay?"

"Another one?" Jimmy asked, concerned. "That's the second one in three months."

"It's no big deal," Linda answered, a little annoyed. "It's not like it was real."

"Linda, I don't care if you were floating in a tube again," Jimmy said, "the fact of the—"

"I wasn't floating in a tube," Linda interrupted. "I was a little girl, and Rok-Var and I were on a beach, and I got bitten by something—which doesn't make any sense, because I've **never** been to a beach in my life, and I would **definitely** remember pink water and teal sand and getting bitten."

Jimmy stared at her, a little confused, but he quickly shrugged it off, looking determined. "I'm gonna get Clark and your parents." He moved to stand, but Linda grabbed his arm, preventing him from moving. "Linda, let go of my arm."

"Please don't," Linda begged. "It was nothing, really."

"Linda, having visions for no reason is not nothing," Jimmy replied, trying to pull free, but not having much luck.

"Hey, is everything okay in there?" Martha called from the kitchen. "You two are being awfully quiet in there."

"Everything's fine, Mom," Linda said as she glanced at Jimmy.

Jimmy opened his mouth to protest, but Linda pleaded with her eyes; he stared at her for a second, then sighed. "Yeah, we're fine," he replied.

"Okay," Martha said.

"Thank you," Linda replied softly as she let go of his arm.

"Yeah, sure," Jimmy said, trying to sound nonchalant as he settled back against the couch and stared at the television set, his jaw set.

Linda stared at him for a few moments, knowing he was upset with her. She sighed and settled in against the couch, leaning against Jimmy's side; she was thankful he didn't pull away from her. After a few seconds, Jimmy sighed and carefully lifted his arm, allowing Linda to lean closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder as he rested his arm on hers.

* * *

The teenagers were able to enjoy the rest of the show without any more hitches; by the time the program had ended, the tension from Linda's vision had all but disappeared, and the two were going on and on as if nothing had happened as they headed into the kitchen.

"So, did the show live up to your expectations?" Martha asked, smiling as she cleaned the counters.

"Definitely," Linda answered, grinning, "and we've already made plans to watch the Christmas Special," she glanced between her parents, "if that's okay with you guys."

"We'll…discuss that closer to Christmas," Jonathan replied before he glanced at his son. "Clark, you want to tell them now?"

"Tell us what?" Jimmy asked.

"The CEO who bought out Liam Bounder's business is coming to Smallville on Tuesday," Clark explained.

"Is this the CEO who's name you refuse to tell me?" Linda asked, crossing her arms, amused.

"Us," Jimmy corrected her. "I did try to find out about him, but **someone** ," he glanced briefly at Clark trying to look annoyed, "told me not to."

"And I thank you for actually listening to me," Clark replied, smiling slightly.

"I still don't understand the secrecy," Linda said.

"I have my reasons, trust me," Clark replied unapologetically. "Anyway, he's having a little social gathering at the Talon Tuesday night to celebrate the business's re-opening, meet prospective clients, mingle, that sort of thing."

"So, why are you telling us?" Jimmy asked, a little confused.

"Well, Perry wants us to cover the event," Clark said. "He called while you were watching your show; I get a few quotes, you get a few photos, your mother already said it was okay, since you'll be off for Thanksgiving break," he glanced at Linda, "and Mom and Dad said it was okay for you to go as well."

"Why me?" Linda asked.

"Because the CEO heard about your artistic ability," Clark answered, "and he was wondering if you could create a piece for the social, as well as bring some of your other works—and be there when they're displayed."

Linda raised her eyebrows, surprised. "Me?" she asked. "He invited **me**?"

Clark nodded. "Perry said he was 'apologetic for the last-minute request and hoped you would accept his offer.' He gave me the CEO's number to call once you've made your decision."

Linda furrowed her eyebrows and tilted her head, trying to process what she had just been told. She wasn't worried about making something at such short notice, but she knew her parents and Clark knew more about the mysterious CEO than they were letting on—and she couldn't understand why they wouldn't just tell her.

"Is this something the CEO really requested," she asked, "or you, Clark?"

"It was all his idea, I promise," Clark replied sincerely, and Linda knew he was telling the truth. "Look, it's up to you; you don't have to do this if you don't want to."

Linda she was a little annoyed that she was being kept in the dark for whatever reason—and almost refused the offer right there, but she had to admit her curiosity was piqued. Whoever the CEO was, he was going to be working in Smallville, which meant it would be in Linda's best interest to learn more about him; if it meant making an art piece for a social gathering, then so be it.

"As long as you and Jimmy'll be there," the young girl said after a few moments, "I'll go."

"I'll let him know," Clark replied, smiling. "Oh, and Bruce and Dick will be there as well, and the attire's formal—even for the journalists."

"Great," Jimmy muttered, "another monkey suit." Linda gave him a quizzical look and opened her mouth, but she was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Wonder who that could be," Martha said as she headed toward the door. As Clark headed over to the table where he'd put his glasses, Linda blurred up the stairs and returned to where she'd been standing in less than a second, holding her glasses; the cousins simultaneously put them on right before Martha opened the door.

Standing on the other side of the screen door was a woman about Martha's age with dark brown hair hanging loosely past her shoulders. She wore a crisp black dress and matching heels, and held a large manila envelope. Beside her stood a younger man who appeared to be in his late thirties; he wore a black suit over a wiry frame, and was bald, with wide brown eyes hidden behind a pair of thick black glasses.

"May I help you?" Martha asked politely.

"My name is Bridgette Crosby," the woman replied, "and this is Edgar Cole. We're sorry to bother you, but we'd like to speak with Clark and Linda for a few moments."

"Who are you again?" Jonathan said as he walked over and stood next to his wife, trying not to appear too suspicious.

"We're emissaries of Dr. Swann's, Mr. Kent" Crosby replied. "We have a message from him, with the explicit instructions that we deliver it personally to your children."

"Why couldn't Dr. Swann deliver it himself?" Clark asked as he joined his parents.

Bridgette looked up at Clark with a sad expression in her eyes. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she replied, "but Dr. Swann passed away earlier this evening."

(End of Chapter 3)


	4. Chapter 4

The silence that filled the room was deafening. Jonathan and Martha stared in shock, while Clark appeared stunned. Linda's eyes were bright with tears, and even Jimmy appeared upset by the news as he put a comforting hand on Linda's shoulder.

"He's dead?" Clark asked after a few seconds.

"I'm afraid so," Bridgette answered. "May we come in, please?" Jonathan nodded and opened the screen door as Martha and Clark moved aside to Bridgette and Edgar inside; Jonathan closed the door behind them. "Thank you."

"Would you like a something to drink or eat?" Martha asked.

"No, thank you, we won't be long," Bridgette answered.

"How did he die?" Clark asked, his voice cracking slightly.

"He developed a blood infection from a pressure wound on the back of his thigh," Bridgette answered. "It was, unfortunately, common because of his paralysis, but he always recovered after being treated with antibiotics. For some reason, he had an allergic reaction to the medications this time and went into cardiac arrest; the doctors did everything possible, but they couldn't save him."

"Did he suffer?" Linda asked softly.

"No," Bridgette answered, "he slipped into a coma and passed away. He didn't wake up at all, and his doctors believed he didn't feel any pain."

"I can't believe this is happening," Clark replied softly, looking a little helpless.

"Clark, Dr. Swann spoke highly of you," Bridgette said before looking at Linda, "both of you. After you and Linda last saw him, he told me how happy he was for you because you were no longer the last Kryptonian on Earth, that he could see you carrying yourself a bit higher because you were no longer alone."

"Dr. Swann told Clark that no one else knew about him," Jonathan spoke up, frowning. "I thought that would've extended to Linda as well."

"Dr. Swann promised their secret would never leave the confines of his foundation," Bridgette replied calmly, "and it hasn't. Edgar and myself are Dr. Swann's personal advisers, and we promise you that no one else in the Foundation is aware of Clark and Linda's origins."

"Miss Crosby, please don't think us rude," Martha spoke up, trying not to sound upset, "but why are you here?"

"About a month ago," Bridgette explained, "Dr. Swann gave me a sealed envelope and instructed me to give it to Clark and Linda in person in the event of Dr. Swann death." She held out the envelope to Clark, who took it.

"What's in it?" Clark asked as he examined the envelope.

"I wish I could be of more help," Bridgette said, "but that package was meant for you and Linda, not me. Now, if you'll excuse us, Edgar and I have some affairs from Dr. Swann's foundation we need to get in order." She nodded politely and turned around, opening the door; she walked out with Edgar following behind her.

Jonathan closed the door and made sure it was securely locked. He turned around and saw the expressions on his son's and daughter's faces; his heart wrenched a little at their lost expression, and he sighed. "Clark, Linda," he said, "I'm sorry about Dr. Swann; I know how much he meant to you both."

"Clark, are you going to be okay?" Martha asked as she put a hand on her son's shoulder.

"Yeah," Clark replied softly, still staring numbly at the envelope in his hands.

"Are you sure it's safe?" Martha asked as she eyed the package warily.

"Bridgette was telling the truth," Linda answered softly. She glanced up and saw everyone staring at her curiously. "I…scanned their minds once she told us she knew about Clark and me; I wanted to make sure she wasn't dangerous."

"What did you sense?" Jimmy asked gently.

"Well, Edgar seemed a bit weird," Linda said softly, "but I didn't sense any hostility from either him or Bridgette." She shook her head, shrugging. "They really were here doing what Dr. Swann wanted them to." She glanced at the envelope. "You should open it"

Clark nodded and everyone moved to the table, taking their usual seats. The reporter sighed and carefully broke the seal, opening the envelope and reaching inside, pulling out a folded up piece of paper; Clark unfolded it, quickly scanning it. "It's a letter."

"What does it say?" Jonathan asked.

"'Dear Clark and Linda,'" Clark read softly. "'If you're reading this, then it means I've passed away. Please don't be too saddened by my death, just remember that this is just the next step in the journey that everyone is a part of.'

"'Clark, I've known you for over ten years, and in that time I've seen you grow from a lost teenager seeking answers about his origins into a confident young man that the world is proud to call their hero. I know there are still answers you're seeking, and I wish I could be there to help you find them, but you will have to do that without me from now on; just be patient—you will find them soon enough, if you only know where to look.'

"'Linda, you and I may not have gotten to know each other as well as I'd hoped, but in our short time together, I saw in you an admirable determination to live your life to the fullest. Don't ever abandon that determination or desire; it will serve you well.'

"'I know that each of you has your own life to live as you continue your journeys in this world, but don't let your independence shadow your connections with each other or your family. Few people have been successful in taking on the world alone. You can do great things, but don't be afraid to ask for help. It is the true hero who isn't scared to admit that he or she can't do it alone. Sincerely, Dr. Swann.'"

Clark's voice cracked a little as he finished reading. He glanced up as he felt his father's hand on his shoulder, giving him a sympathetic look. The reporter looked over to see Linda in tears, her chin quivering slightly; he saw Jimmy holding her hand as Martha gently rubbed her shoulder.

Clark cleared his throat and sighed as he reached into the envelope and pulled out a folded piece of delicate rice paper; he carefully opened it, and his eyebrows slowly raised in surprise as he stared at it.

"Clark, what is it?" Jonathan asked.

Clark carefully set the paper on the table so everyone could see it. Painted in sharp black ink was a large diamond, standing on its end. To the right of the diamond was a Yin Yang symbol consisting of a dark blue dragon-like bird for the Yin part and a bright orange dragon-like bird for the Yang part; both birds were engulfed in blue and orange flames, respectively. A black line connected the diamond's far right point to the circle, continuing under the Yin Yang symbol and to the right for a few more inches. In the diamond—painted in the same black ink as the diamond and line—was the familiar Kryptonian symbol for the House of El; in the bottom right corner of the paper was a small cluster of inked stars.

"What is that?" Martha asked as she stared in shock at the design.

"Nightwing and Flamebird," Linda whispered intently as stared at the paper.

"'Flamebird'?" Jimmy asked, a little surprised and confused. "Wasn't that the animal you sculpted—the one that looked like a phoenix?"

Linda nodded as she slowly leaned forward, turning the paper so she could see it better; she stared at it in awe, remembering the stories Rok-Var used to tell her.

"I'm assuming that's a Nightwing?" Jonathan asked as he nodded at the dark blue bird.

"Yeah," Linda replied, furrowing her eyebrows. "Rok-Var told me several stories regarding the Nightwing and Flamebird when I was little; he said the stories were so old that no one knew which version was true."

"What were they?" Clark asked, curious.

"One version goes back all the way to ancient Krypton," Linda explained, "when our people used to worship Rao, the sun god. He tasked other, lesser, gods with different responsibilities around the planet. Vohc was charged with creating and shaping life on Krypton, while his sister, Flamebird, was told to burn his work so his creativity wouldn't stagnate. According to the legend, Vohc created something one day that he felt was perfect and begged Flamebird not to destroy it, but she felt bound by her duty to Rao and burned it anyway. Vohc felt betrayed by his sister and began destroying things instead of creating them."

"So, basically he threw a glorified tantrum," Jimmy said.

"Essentially," Linda nodded.

"And Nightwing?" Clark asked.

"He was charged with carrying Wegthor, Xenon, and Mithen—Krypton's three moons—on his wings every night, filling up the entire sky with their lights so it shone like day," Linda replied. "He was also best friends with Vohc, and Flamebird's lover. After Vohc began destroying things, Nightwing and Flamebird used their abilities to help fix what Vohc destroyed, so Vohc decided to change his tactic and go after the people Nightwing and Flamebird protected; he caused what was known as the Great Flood of Krypton. Millions would have perished, but Nightwing and Flamebird managed to save everyone—right before Vohc ambushed them; they were mortally wounded. Vohc even tried destroying the moons, but Nightwing used the last of his abilities to fling the moons out of Vohc's reach before he died.

"It is said that as Vohc stood over their lifeless bodies," Linda continued, "he saw their blood—which was like liquid fire—mingling and scorching the ground beneath them, and he was suddenly overcome with remorse and guilt for killing his sister and best friend. He begged Rao to bring them back, but Rao refused and banished Vohc to the edge of the universe—but only after Vohc created one more thing: he carved a river that channeled their blood and directed it to to flow over the side of a cliff for all eternity. That monument became known as the Fire Falls, and it was said that the glow from their blood shone so bright in that area that it was as if the moons of Krypton had returned to their original positions in the sky."

"And I thought Greek mythology and Shakespeare were complicated," Jimmy muttered.

"Well, the other version is a **lot** more realistic," Linda replied. "Rok-Var said Nightwing and Flamebird were just normal Kryptonian animals that mated for life and were symbols of balance: the Flamebird was more active and vocal, while the Nightwing more docile and serene—but both birds defended themselves and each other with extreme fervor if they felt threatened." She shrugged. "Rok-Var even mentioned that in times of strife, two people would be inspired to fight for those who couldn't fight for themselves, using the animals as symbols of hope in their struggle."

"What about the rest of the drawing?" Martha asked. "This symbol appears to be Kryptonian."

"Well, that's the symbol for 'Crusade,'" Clark answered, "or 'Fire,' depending on the context," he gently tapped the El symbol, "and we all know what that is."

"What about this?" Linda asked, pointing to the Yin Yang symbol the two birds formed. "That's not a Kryptonian symbol."

"It's a Yin Yang," Clark explained, "and it's a Chinese symbol representing a balance between two forces. Given what you what you said about Nightwing and Flamebird—and what they represent—that actually makes a little sense."

"But how did they wind up on this thing in the first place?" Jimmy asked. "This paper looks old—like **really** old."

"Well, based on the strokes of the ink," Clark said as he studied the paper, "it looks like it was drawn in third century B.C., but…that doesn't make sense; the earliest Kryptonian to visit Earth was Naman, and that was hundreds of years later—and in Kansas, not China."

"Actually, third century B.C. is pretty accurate," Linda replied casually as she stared at the paper. After a few moments, she slowly glanced up and saw everyone staring at her. "What?"

"Would you care to run that by us again?" Jonathan asked.

"Rok-Var told me our ancestors started visiting Earth a long time ago," Linda answered, " **long** before Naman," she nodded at the paper, "and I guess China must have been one of the places they visited."

"Why didn't you say anything before now?" Clark asked.

"I honestly didn't think it was important," Linda replied. "I mean, Rok-Var told me it was our ancestors who came here, and he avoided going into too many details about the purpose of the visits," she shrugged as she nodded at the paper, "but whatever the reason, they **did** leave an impression on the locals." She turned to Clark. "Does the letter say anything about where Dr. Swann found this?"

Clark held up the letter and quickly scanned it. "Nothing," he said. "Just what I read to you," he chuckled, "and this." He turned the letter around, and everyone saw the words 'Look to the stars' scrawled in tiny letters in the lower right corner. He suddenly got this weird expression on his face, and he quickly turned the letter around; he stared at the words again, then he quickly turned the drawing toward him, focusing on the cluster of starts; he squinted his eyes, zooming in until he clearly saw the microscopic words written inside them. "Bingo."

"What is it?" Martha asked.

"There's writing in these stars," Clark replied, not looking up. "'Sidera tollere vultus.'"

"'Raise your face to the stars,'" Jimmy replied slowly. Everyone glanced at him, a little surprised. "What, am I the only person here who's read _Ovid_?" Everyone stayed quiet and just stared. "I'm gonna take that as a 'yes'." He sighed. "That's part of a passage from Metamorphosis: 'Caeulum videre iussit, et erectos ad sidera tollere vultus.'"

"'He bid them look at the sky and lift their faces to the stars,'" Linda said slowly, and everyone turned to look at her, just as surprised.

"How did you know what that means?" Jimmy asked.

Linda shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "I must've read it somewhere—probably on the Internet."

Clark glanced at his cousin, not sure if she was being completely honest with him, but he decided not to press her further. "Well," he said, "for whatever reason Dr. Swann gave this to us, we're not going to find any more answers—not tonight, anyway. It's late, and Jimmy and I need to get back to Metropolis."

"Yeah," Jimmy replied, a little disappointed as they all got to their feet and headed toward the kitchen door. "Why delve into Kryptonian history when we can investigate the Toyman?"

"Who?" Linda asked curiously.

"Schott's back?" Martha asked, concerned.

"Yeah," Clark replied, "and he's already killed someone, but don't worry, I'll be careful."

"Please do," Jonathan said.

"Who's the Toyman?" Linda repeated, a little annoyed.

"No one you need to worry about," Clark replied quickly. Linda raised an eyebrow as she folded her arms, and Clark sighed. "Fine. He's a dangerous criminal who uses toys to kill people."

"That's the best you can come up with?" Linda asked wryly.

"Actually, he's telling the truth," Jimmy answered. "Last time he was in town, he used Lois and me as bait by kidnapping us with a giant robot spider—which was pretty cool," he glanced over and saw Clark folding his arms, "and by cool I mean it was a bad thing—a really bad thing."

"You want any help finding him?" Linda asked her cousin.

"No," Clark, Martha, and Jonathan replied.

"Sheesh, I was just asking," Linda said as she folded her arms, looking a little annoyed.

Clark smiled a little. "Why don't you keep an eye on Dr. Swann's letter and that paper, okay?" Linda grumbled a little but sighed and nodded, and Clark leaned over to kiss her cheek. "Good night, Short Stack."

"Don't call me Short Stack," Linda replied, sounding annoyed but Clark saw the corners of her mouth curl up slightly. As Clark said goodbye to his parents, Linda glanced at Jimmy, and she sighed as she smiled a little as she hugged him. "Thanks for coming, Jimmy."

"Hey, no sweat," Jimmy replied, smiling, hugging her in return. When they pulled back, they stared at each other for a brief moment before completely separating. The photographer glanced at the Kents, and he could tell they were trying not to grin; Jimmy felt a little embarrassed, but he kept a calm demeanor. "Thanks for having me over."

"Of course, Jimmy," Martha replied warmly.

"Come on, Jimbo," Clark said as he put his arm around Jimmy's shoulders and opened the door. They headed down the porch steps, and the trio watched from the porch as Clark picked Jimmy up before launching himself into the sky, heading in the direction of Metropolis. Once the boys were out of sight, the Kents went back inside the house, and Jonathan closed the door behind them.

From the shadows of the barn, Bridgette and Edgar kept their eyes on the sky. After a few moments, Bridgette reached toward her ear and pulled out a small device that looked like a miniature hearing aid; Edgar followed her actions as they headed toward a black town car nearby.

"Now what?" Edgar asked as he opened the passenger side.

"They have what they need," Bridgette replied as she opened the driver's side. "All we do now is wait for them to figure it out." She got in and closed the door behind her.

"And what if they don't?" Edgar asked as he got in beside her. "Why can't we just tell them the truth?"

"Because Dr. Swann was adamant in his instructions," Bridgette answered. "We were to give them their first clue, but Kal-El and Kara **must** do this without our interference—otherwise there's no hope for any of us." Edgar looked troubled, but he didn't say anything as Bridgette started the car and shifted into drive, heading away from the farmhouse.

(End of Chapter 4)


	5. Chapter 5

It was after midnight as Linda tossed and turned in her bed; she moaned softly, beads of sweat forming on her forehead, her eyes squeezed shut. Krypto and Streaky lay in their bed near her dresser, watching with concern but unsure what to do.

Linda suddenly opened her eyes and looked around in confusion. She was levitating in a vertical position in a void, dressed in a white, toga-like dress. The young girl's heart pounded in her chest as she reached around and tried to move, but she couldn't, and her fear increased as she looked around frantically. A speck of light caught her attention, growing larger as it moved toward her. Linda's eyes grew wide as she recognized the lights—a bright orange—in the shape of Flamebird. The figure stopped in front of the young girl, hovering as it stared at her with dark blue eyes.

 _Destiny_ , a voice boomed out from the figure.

"What?" Linda asked, confused, her voice shaky.

 _Destiny_ , the voice repeated as it flew toward Linda, engulfing her in flames.

The young girl shouted loudly as her eyes flew open; her heart pounded in her chest, and she sweated profusely, panting hard, looking around in confusion. She stood in the middle of the Kawatche cave, dressed in her pajama shorts and tank top; she reflexively shivered and hugged herself, even though she wasn't the least bit cold. Her attention was drawn to the back wall, and Linda's eyes grew wide as she stared at the 'Crusade' symbol—the same one that had been on the rice paper Dr. Swann had given them.

Linda stared in shock and disbelief. She had no idea what was going on—or how she even ended up in the caves in the first place—but she knew she needed to get back home before anyone noticed she was missing. The young girl glanced at the symbol once more before taking a deep breath, pivoting on her heels, and blurring out of the cave.

* * *

Linda managed to get back to the farm and into her room without being seen, but she knew she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep; part of her wanted to investigate the symbols on the rice paper more, but she had had her fill of anything Kryptonian for a while. The young girl decided it would be safer to work on the art piece for the social gathering, so she changed into a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, pulled her hair into a loose braid, and headed into the loft. After mulling for about an hour, she finally settled on an idea—a watercolor painting what she felt was a good representation of Smallville. She set up her easel and arranged her paints and brushes and began working, losing herself in her work as she filled the blank canvas with colors.

"There you are."

Linda turned her head when she heard the gentle voice. Jonathan walked over, dressed in his work clothes, and looking relieved. Linda tilted her head slightly, furrowing her eyebrows. "Did I wake you?" she asked.

"No, the alarm clock did," Jonathan replied. "Got dressed and then came to get you up so we could do our chores together—figured you could use the company after last night—but you weren't in your bed…or the house, then I saw the lights on in the barn and figured you were out here."

"Is it morning already?" Linda asked, glancing over at the open window; she saw the dim light of the sun peeking over the horizon. "Huh…didn't think that much time had passed."

"Sweetie, how long have you been out here?" Jonathan asked as he sat on the edge of the couch.

"About two, I think," Linda replied as she went back to her work.

"Is there anything you want to talk about?" Jonathan asked, looking at his daughter with a little concern. "You seemed pretty bothered about last night's events."

"Well, I was pretty upset by Dr. Swann's death," Linda replied as she dipped her brush in some yellow paint and gently dabbed a small area, "and the whole thing with the rice paper is very," she sighed and shrugged slightly, "honestly, I don't know what to make of it, but I'm okay."

"You sure?" Jonathan pressed gently.

Linda nodded, giving him a small smile. "I'm sure," she replied.

Jonathan stared at her, almost as if he was deciding if she was telling the truth; after a few moments, he smiled back. "Okay," he replied, "but if you want to talk, your mother and I are always available."

"I know," Linda replied before she glanced at the easel. "So, this is what I'm making for the social on Tuesday night; I'm going for a representation of Smallville, you know, make a good first impression with the CEO. What do you think?"

Jonathan's smile widened as he stared at the painting; he got up and walked over, kissing the top of her head and rubbing her shoulders. "I think he's going to really like it," he replied.

"Do you want me to stop and get started on my chores?" Linda asked.

"Why don't you finish your painting first," Jonathan suggested, "then you can join me when you're done?"

Linda nodded and went back to work as Jonathan headed for the stairs. He stopped and looked back at his daughter, watching her for a few moments—his eyes filled with concern—before making his way downstairs.

* * *

The rest of the weekend passed uneventfully—for which Linda was extremely thankful. She managed to distract herself for the entire day by completely immersing herself into finishing her painting, her chores, and even working on five other projects: three watercolors, a charcoal, and an oil painting. She did her evening chores and had a nice quiet dinner with her parents before heading upstairs to decompress before going to bed.

Monday morning came without any more nightmares, and Linda woke refreshed and ready to face the day; she quickly completed her chores before getting dressed and blurring off to school; she smiled as she felt the cool wind in her face, taking a deep breath through her nose and letting it out. The young girl skittered effortlessly—and unseen—to a stop behind the school stadium, clutching her backpack.

A low growl behind her caught her attention. She turned and saw a large black bear emerge from the trees nearby with a red backpack in its mouth, but Linda simply sighed and smiled as she rolled her eyes. "You just can't help yourself, can you?" she asked, amused.

The bear stood on its hind legs, its body rippling as it appeared to shrink. In an instant, Gar stood tall, grinning, as he took his backpack and slung it over his shoulders. "Hey, at least I used a local animal this time," he said as he walked over. "Have a good weekend?" His eyes twinkled. "How was Saturday night with Jimmy?"

Linda smiled halfheartedly and shrugged. "It was…interesting," she replied as they headed toward the school.

Gar noticed the subtle change in her voice. "What happened?" he asked, concerned. "You guys didn't have a fight, did you?"

"No," Linda replied, "nothing like that. It's just…it's complicated." Gar simply raised an eyebrow, and Linda sighed. "Did you hear about a Dr. Virgil Swann passing away Saturday night?"

"Yeah, a little," Gar replied.

"Well, he was a friend of Clark's," Linda explained. "He helped Clark learn a little bit about where he came from; I met him once, he was a really nice man. Anyway, after he died, Clark and I got this envelope, and inside was a piece of rice paper with Kryptonian symbols, including my family's symbol, as well as part of a Latin passage from Ovid—and Clark said it dated back to Third Century B.C. China."

Gar stopped and stared at her in shock, his eyes wide. "Really?" Linda nodded. "Any idea what it means?"

Linda shook her head. "Not a clue."

Gar knew there was something she wasn't telling him, but he decided not to press it—for now. He simply put an arm around her shoulders as they continued their walk.

* * *

"I already said I have no comment, Lane," Inspector Henderson said angrily from behind his desk, glaring up at Clark and Lois.

"Come on, Henderson," Lois replied, just as angry. "There was another politician murdered—this time with an acid squirting water pistol—and you have 'no comment.'"

"What do you want me to say?" Henderson asked. "'We all know who's doing it, but we have no idea **where** he is.'? I'm sure the public would appreciate that."

"So, what **are** you doing?" Lois asked.

"Our jobs," Henderson answered unwaveringly. "We're done here."

Lois opened her mouth, but Clark grabbed her arm and steered her quickly out of the office, closing the door behind him before letting her go.

"I wasn't done," Lois said angrily.

"Oh, I think you were," Clark replied as they made their way through the bullpen and toward the entrance. "Henderson looked like he was on the verge of tossing you in jail. I'm sure they're doing everything they can to find Schott."

Lois glanced at him, unconvinced. "Clark, we have another city official dead, this time half his face melted off; what's next, a wind-up monkey with cymbals that blows someone into a million pieces?" They headed out of the building, making their way down the sidewalk. "You know, we haven't heard anything from Superman; I mean, does he even know what's going on?"

"I'm sure he does," Clark replied, "and I bet he's trying to find Schott right now." His phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his jacket; he saw the text alert that he'd received a message and attached picture. The reporter opened the message and read it before opening the picture; his eyebrows shot up a little.

"What is it?" Lois asked. Clark handed her his phone, and Lois quickly skimmed the image before reading the text; she smiled as she handed it back to him. "Linda still doesn't know who he is, does she?"

"Nope," Clark replied.

"I don't get why you're keeping it a secret," Lois said.

"I have my reasons, don't worry," Clark replied, "and I don't have to wait too much longer for the reveal."

"Yeah, well, I'm still not sure Linda's going to be all thrilled," Lois said, glancing at Clark's phone. "So, what are you going to do?"

"Get some answers of my own," Clark replied as he opened up his 'Contacts' folder, scrolling until he found who he was looking for.

(End of Chapter 5)


	6. Chapter 6

In an abandoned warehouse in Suicide Slum, a short, plump man leaned over a work bench, his only only source light in the room coming from a series of work lamps aimed at the table. He wore a dark green and black striped leather jacket over a green polka dotted dress shirt and a black vest, with a pair of black pants and shoes; his shoulder-length, wavy brown hair and mutton chops added to his bizarre appearance. His wild blue eyes—hidden behind a pair of round, purple-tinted glasses—stared intently as he tinkered with a small toy on a pedestal.

"Hard at work?"

The man jumped and dropped his tools, startled. He glanced around, his heart pounding, trying to find the source of the voice; he stiffened when he saw the bald man in a crisp suit emerge from the shadows in front of him, smirking.

"Or hardly working?" Lex finished.

"Lex," the man replied, trying not to sound or appear too annoyed (he hated being disturbed) as he grabbed his tools and continued working. "What brings you here?"

"Just trying to decide which one of us is more stupid," Lex answered, "you—or me for hiring you." The man looked up, confused. "Don't give me that look, Schott; you know exactly what I'm talking about."

"You asked me to take care of a few political hurdles, Lex," Schott replied calmly as he continued tinkering, "and in return, you'd give me the means to take revenge on Superman; in case you haven't read the paper, I've already managed to take out two of your hurdles."

"And I told you I didn't want them all killed immediately," Lex replied.

"I believe your exact words were 'It would be a shame if they didn't make it to Christmas,'" Schott countered. "I figured you'd be pleased if I bumped the timeline up a little," he smirked a little, "you know, avoid the holiday rush."

"I appreciate the consideration," Lex replied sarcastically, "but if any of this gets back to me—"

"It won't, Lex," Schott interrupted, keeping his eye focused on his project. He was quiet for a few moments. "Of course, I might be more willing to keep to your schedule if I was busy with...other projects." He glanced briefly at Lex.

Lex set his lips, but kept a cool demeanor. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small lead box; he set it on the table near Schott's toy.

"What's that?" Scott asked as glanced over, intrigued.

Lex opened the box, revealing a chunk of kryptonite the size of a golf ball. "What you need to work on your other project," he replied.

"The one thing that can truly hurt Superman," Schott said as he quickly put his tools down, his eyes dancing with excitement as he focused his attention on the green rock. "I thought kryptonite was just a rumor."

"I've used it several times before on Superman," Lex explained, "and believe me, that green rock lives up to its reputation."

Scott raised an eyebrow, then he caught a glimmer out of the corner of his eye. He glanced down at Lex's right hand and saw a small green stone set on a gold mount on Lex's ring finger. "I see you have your own insurance," he remarked with a little smirk.

"I had it fashioned a few weeks ago," Lex replied smugly as he held up his hand. "I never leave home without it." He lowered his hand, looking back at the toy maker, his smile fading. "I mean it, Winslow; use all the toys are your disposal to your heart's content, but keep to a more realistic timeline, because if this comes back to me, you and I will have our own version of 'play time,'" his face became deadly serious, "and you won't like one second of it."

Scott swallowed nervously, but he kept a calm demeanor as Lex slipped back into the shadows, leaving Schott alone with his project. The toymaker glanced back down at the box and just stared at the glowing green rock, the gears turning in his head.

* * *

Wally and Cutter walked down the corridor, holding a couple of notepads and talking through their notes, trying to determine how the layout was going to be for the upcoming edition. By the time they'd reached the Torch, they had decided to 'super-size' the lunch menu—again—and use the rest of their articles to fill in around in. The two walked in and stopped short when they saw Linda sitting at one of their desks, staring intently at the computer screen.

"Always knew there were some investigative genes behind those baby blues," Wally said.

Linda looked over, a little startled; she saw Wally and Cutter smirking at her, and she blushed. "I was just waiting for you guys," she replied as she held up a post-it note; it read 'Torch Lunch—urgent' in Cutter's handwriting; she raised an eyebrow as the two headed toward her. "Lunch started over ten minutes ago, and I was getting bored waiting."

"So, you decide to invade our privacy," Cutter joked as he glanced down at the screen. He furrowed his eyebrows a little as he saw the Daily Planet article from last year concerning Toyman; a large photo taken by Jimmy—showing Superman standing over the remains of a giant spider robot—took up a good portion of the screen. "You're reading about Winslow Schott?"

"Yep," Linda replied. "Apparently, he's back in Metropolis, and Clark is refusing to tell me anything about him."

"Yeah, we heard about the two politicians killed over the weekend," Wally replied. "So, why are you interested in the psycho, anyway?"

"Curiosity," Linda replied. She swiveled around in her chair and looked up at her friends. "What do you guys know about him?" The boys glanced between themselves, then back at Linda as she got up, smiling. "Come on, guys, I'm sure you know **tons** of stuff about Winslow Schott."

"Why do I have the feeling you're trying to schmooze us?" Cutter asked, folding his arms, amused.

"Because I am," Linda replied, still smiling, "and you guys really are the only people I know of who I can talk to at the moment who would actually **know** something."

Cutter rolled his eyes and sighed as he shook his head; he brushed past Linda and sat in the chair, swiveling it back around and typing furiously on the keyboard; a digital police report popped up on the screen, complete with a photo.

"Winslow Percival Schott," he read the screen, "born in Metropolis on January 27, 1976, to Jack and Mary Schott. Showed signs at an early age of being extremely dexterous—made his first toy when he was five—and spent the thirteen years making toys and no friends. Graduated from MIT in '97, hired by Lionel Luthor after that and spent the next fifteen years working in R and D for Lionel Luthor—and then Lex—as an inventor."

"What did he invent?" Linda asked.

"Pretty much anything he could think of," Wally replied, "and anything he was told to make."

"So, when did he go from inventing for the Luthors to killing people?" Linda asked.

"Well, according to his employee records," Cutter said, "his supervisors always said he always acted immature—bringing toys into work and stuff—but then he started placing mini explosives in them; he was subsequently fired."

"He blamed Lex and started targeting him," Wally added. "Killed five people and destroyed a few buildings in New Troy with a giant spider robot before Superman stopped him."

"Unfortunately, 'him' turned out to be an exact robot duplicate," Cutter added. "The real Schott gave everyone the slip during the commotion with said; he's been on the run for over a year."

"So, any idea why he's back?" Linda asked.

"Not yet," Cutter answered, "but we're still looking into it." He glanced up at Linda. "You want us to let you know if we find anything?"

"That would be great," Linda replied appreciatively before she raised an eyebrow. "Now, about the post-it note in my locker…."

"Oh, yeah," Cutter replied, squirming slightly, looking a little uncomfortable, "that…."

"You need to get a cellphone," Wally spoke up, "like, as soon as humanly possible."

"Why?" Linda asked, amused as she folded her arms.

"Because your cousin texted me," Cutter replied. "He says he needs some information from you; it deals with the party on Tuesday evening, so he needs the info ASAP."

"What info?" Linda asked, confused.

"Your dress and shoe size," Cutter replied before he cleared his throat, blushing a little, "and, uh, your…um…." He pantomimed with his hands, but Linda looked even more confused; Cutter glanced at Wally for help.

Wally sighed, rolling his eyes. "He means, this," he replied, cupping his hands and holding them at chest level.

Linda's eyes widened as she realized to what Wally was referring—and she closed her eyes, her cheeks turning pink from embarrassment.

"I've heard of reporters asking the tough questions, but isn't that going a bit far?"

Cutter, Linda, and Wally—still holding up his cupped hands—looked over and saw their friends standing just inside the entrance; it was Dick who had spoken.

"Or if you're trying to find your own size, Wally," Mattie added, grinning, "I would hazard a bet that you're about an A cup."

Wally glanced down at his hands, then quickly dropped them. "Very funny," he replied, blushing.

"So, what on earth on you guys doing in here?" Andy asked, amused.

"Nothing," Linda replied quickly, her cheeks now a bright red; she cleared her throat, brushing some hair from her face as she glanced at Wally and Cutter. "Look, I'll contact Clark and let him know about…that information." _And then I'm going to kill him._

"He, uh, actually told Cutter to tell us to give that information to the CEO," Wally said slowly, bracing for Linda's reaction.

"What?!" Linda asked, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and anger. Wally scrambled behind Cutter, peeking over his friend's shoulder. "You can't be serious."

"You think we'd joke about this?" Wally asked.

"I'd sincerely hope not," Linda replied.

"Because, trust us," Wally continued, "the last thing on our mind is your bra size."

"That's comforting to know," Linda replied wryly. She glanced between her friends—the guys all appeared as if they wanted to be elsewhere (but weren't quite sure if they could leave without being seen), while Mattie and Andy looked as if they were about to bust a gut. Linda sighed and grabbed a pad of post-it notes and a pin; quickly scribbled on the top note, then pulled it off the pad and handed it to Cutter. "Text Clark this information."

"Including that word right there?" Cutter asked, furrowing his eyebrows as he pointed. Linda nodded, smiling sweetly. "Won't he think that's from us?"

"Oh, he'll know it's from me," Linda replied. "We made up a secret language when I first moved to Smallville—to have some fun and bond—and that's one of the words."

"Just for the record," Wally said, "what does 'kreteno' mean?"

"Imbecile," Linda replied before turning and heading out of the room.

"Okay, is anyone **else** just a tad bit frightened by her?" Cutter asked.

"Yeah, isn't it awesome?" Gar asked, grinning. Everyone glanced at him, wryly, and the teenager looked a little sheepish as he shrugged.

(End of Chapter 6)


	7. Chapter 7

On Tuesday evening, a black Rolls Royce Phantom pulled up beside the curb in front of the Talon. Alfred—dressed in a formal suit and driver's hat—exited the driver's side and walked around the vehicle; he opened the back passenger door.

"Miss Kent," he replied cordially.

Linda hesitated for a moment before she carefully stepped out of the vehicle. She wore a burgundy sleeveless pencil dress with a sweetheart neckline, sheathed in matching lace from collar to her feet; her hair had been styled into a braided bun, her makeup was light enough to accent her facial features, and she wore simple pearl clip on earrings and a matching necklace. She glanced up at the Talon, lit up with bright lights; she nervously pushed her glasses up on her nose.

"You're going to be just fine."

Linda glanced at Alfred; he was smiling warmly at her. "I doubt it," she replied. "I've never been to one of these before; I don't know what to do." She knew Clark and Jimmy were running a little late, but Bruce and Dick were already inside.

"Stand straight," Alfred answered, "shoulders back, chin up, smile—and just be yourself. If people can't accept that, then they're not worth your time."

Linda smiled and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "Thank you, Alfred," she replied.

"My pleasure," Alfred replied, still smiling. "Now, go and enjoy yourself."

Linda turned back to face the Talon as Alfred closed the door. She swallowed nervously before glancing over at the butler; he simply nodded encouragingly. The young girl faced the building again, took a deep breath, and headed toward the doors; a doorman held the door open, and she walked in; Linda stopped just inside, staring in awe.

Soft music could be heard playing over the sound system, and the tables and chairs normally reserved for the customers had been moved to the backroom, opening up the floor space. Some of the Christmas lights had been strung like a vaulted canopy over the main area, complimenting the lights hanging on the stair rails. Platters of hors-d'oeuvres and crystal, champagne-filled flutes covered the bar where the displays of baked goods and sweets had once been. Small arrangements of fall flowers—including autumn sunflowers—had been strategically placed to accent the atmosphere. Seven of Linda's paintings—including the one she had finished over the weekend—hung on the columns with soft LED display lights illuminating them. A couple of waiters with trays roved through the crowd of men and women, offering freshly filled flutes in exchange for empty ones. Linda scanned the crowd for either Dick or Bruce, but she couldn't seen either of them anywhere. The young girl briefly wondered if this was a cruel joke, but she knew her family and friends would never do that to her. Deciding to stay, she watched as a group of people moved away from her nearest painting—the 'Summer Memories' one with the dancing fire and ice couple—before she casually walked over, pretending to study it.

"So, what do you think about it?"

Linda looked to her left and saw a young man in a tuxedo standing next to her. He stood about as tall as Clark, with short, dark blond hair styled in a spiky manner; he held a champagne flute in his right hand and looked at her inquisitively with brown eyes.

"I'm sorry?" Linda asked, trying not to sound unnerved. She really hoped her super-hearing would kick in soon; she hated people sneaking up on her.

"The painting," the man replied, nodding before taking a sip from his drink. "You look like someone who has a good eye for this sort of thing. What do you think of," he leaned toward the painting and squinted at the small plaque underneath, reading it, "'Summer Memories'?"

Linda felt her nerves calming as she hid a smile; this guy—who, admittedly, was on the cute side—obviously had no idea who she was. She turned back to her painting and put on her best reflective expression as she pretended to study it. "Well," she said slowly, "it appears to be a combination of a landscape depicting the painter's home fading into a symbolic representation of the song 'Real World.'"

"The Rob Thomas song?" the man asked, confused.

"The Owl City song," Linda corrected. "The upper portion's background is painted in Venetian blue, dotted with stars, representing the 'with a starry brush, paint the dusk Venetian blue' line, the dancing fire and ice couple represent the 'where fire and ice collide' line, and the feathers everywhere cover the 'downy feathers kiss your face and flutter everywhere' line."

"That's pretty impressive," the man replied.

"Yeah, it left an impression alright," Linda said, her voice a lot softer as she just stared at the painting. After a few moments, she blinked and shook her head slightly, coming out of her daze. "I'm sorry…I—it's her favorite painting."

"Well, they say you never forget your first time," the man commented, "and it definitely shows in your work."

Linda slowly looked at the man, her eyebrows furrowed. "Excuse me?"

"I mean," the man continued, "I'm not really into art, but I do recognize talent; just goes to show I made a good decision in inviting you."

"You're the mysterious CEO," Linda asked incredulously, "the one who bought out Liam Bounder's business?"

"Well, I prefer 'dashing,' the man replied, "but, yes, that's me." He glanced down at her dress briefly, smiling. "And I see the dress fits nicely—and it looks really good on you, too."

Linda pursed her lips as she folded her arms; she was a little embarrassed being caught off guard, but now that she finally had the CEO in front of her, she was going to give him a piece of her mind. "Look, I don't know how things work where you're from," she said, "but where I come from, adult men don't go around asking for the dress measurements of teenage girls they don't know."

"That's why I asked Clark," the man pointed out. "I figured it'd be less creepy coming from him."

"Actually, he texted two of my friends," Linda countered, "my **guy** friends—at school."

"Oh," the man said, a little surprised, "I would have thought he'd talk to your mother."

"Who are you?" Linda asked.

"Oh, sorry," the man said as he moved his flute to his other hand and held his free hand out to Linda, smiling warmly. "Oliver Queen. It's nice to finally meet you, Linda."

Linda just stared at him, stunned, then her features slowly hardened as she took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, now I know why no one told me who you were," she said softly, her eyes growing a little brighter. "Excuse me." She brushed past Oliver and made her way through the crowd as she headed for the stairs.

Oliver watched her, but decided not to make a scene by trying to stop her. He glanced at the front entrance as Clark and Jimmy walked in—both dressed in sharp tuxedos; Jimmy also carried his camera. Both newcomers watched Linda—visibly upset—as she climbed the stairs for a few moments. Clark glanced at Oliver briefly before following his cousin.

Jimmy slowly turned his head toward Oliver, his features set; it took a few moments for him to muster up the courage to walk over to the businessman. "Well, now it all makes sense why everyone was so hush hush," he said curtly.

"It's Jimmy, right?" Oliver said. "Jimmy Olsen?" He had never met the photographer before, but from the way Clark had described him, Oliver knew the teenager in front of him could be no one else.

"Yeah," Jimmy replied, trying to appear as tall as possible as he kept his voice low. "So, I guess when you have as much money as you do and hang out with other people who have certain…qualifications, then that entitles you to do whatever you want to whoever you want, huh?" Oliver opened his mouth, but Jimmy continued. "Look, I don't know what you're planning, but Linda is **not** going to be a part of it."

"I'm not sure I understand," Oliver said slowly.

"Yeah, well, understand this," Jimmy replied. "Linda's an awesome person, and she doesn't deserve the Big Brother treatment from your little club—and you can stuff **that** in your quiver with the rest of your arrows." He turned and marched up the stairs, leaving Oliver with a slightly impressed expression on his face.

"Well, now I know who 'Ice Boy' is," he muttered softly.

* * *

Linda explored the room above the main area of the Talon, unfazed by the decades worth of dust on the forgotten antiques. She tried distracting herself by imaging the different ways she could 'recycle' each of them, but she couldn't stay focused; she kept thinking about how humiliated and betrayed she felt.

"Can we talk?"

Linda stiffened when she heard her cousin's voice. "You certainly didn't seem to think that was important before now," she replied curtly, refusing to face him.

Clark sighed. "Okay, I deserved that," he replied as he walked in, stopping about ten feet from her.

"Believe me, there's a **lot** you deserve right now," Linda replied. She turned around, her expression full of anger, her eyes bright with tears. "How could you?"

"I can explain," Clark said gently.

"Explain what?" Linda asked, folding her arms. "Oliver Queen is **your** friend **and** a member of the Justice League, but I'm just now finding out that he's the one bringing his business to Smallville." Clark opened his mouth, but Linda cut him off. "You told me you hated the idea of the League monitoring me, but at least you **told** me about that. Not only did you **not** tell me about this, but you let everyone else in on the secret— **except** me."

"And me." Clark and Linda looked over and saw Jimmy standing in the doorway, holding his camera, looking at Clark, his features hard and set.

"Jimmy," Clark explained, "I didn't tell you, because I knew you'd tell Linda."

"You're damn right I would," Jimmy replied as he approached Clark, frowning. "She's your only blood relative, Clark; you had no right to keep this from her, especially with how the League views her."

"Not everyone in the League sees her as a potential threat."

The trio looked over and saw Oliver standing just outside the open door, his expression and body language nonthreatening. "May I come in?" he asked Linda.

"I didn't know my opinion mattered, Mister Queen," Linda replied, "or does it only matter when it suits your purpose?"

Oliver had to hide a smile as he cautiously entered the room; Linda definitely had a spunk and assertiveness that her cousin lacked. He glanced at Jimmy as the photographer subtly moving toward Linda, standing protectively near her, as the businessman stopped near Clark.

"Before you begin what I'm sure is a well-rehearsed speech intended to placate me," Linda said, "I'm well aware not everyone in the League—you included—felt it was necessary to monitor me." She glanced briefly at her cousin, annoyed. "Clark at least told me **that** much," she looked back at Oliver, "but that still doesn't explain why everyone decided to hide your identity from me in the first place." Oliver opened his mouth, but Linda wasn't finished. "Is that why you're here, Mister Queen? You actually **do** want to spy on me—and buying Mr. Bounder's business gives you that opportunity?"

"Honestly," Oliver replied, "I bought the business so Smallville's economy didn't flounder because its owner was a gutless, narcissistic horn dog." He shrugged. "You just happened to be an added bonus."

Jimmy snorted as he rolled his eyes. "So, now Linda's a 'bonus,' huh?" he asked.

Oliver pursed his lips a little; he could respect protectiveness, but he had to admit the teenager was starting to grate on his nerves a little. "I meant," he continued, "that ever since Linda came to Earth, Clark is always talking about her," he glanced at Clark, "to the point where some of us were getting **annoyed** by it." Clark raised an eyebrow, even though he knew Oliver was just ribbing him.

"So, what, you were curious to see if the stories about the little lost alien girl were true?" Linda asked defensively.

"No, I wanted to meet the person who helped give one of my friends a new purpose in his life," Oliver said honestly. Even as Linda kept her defensive posture, the businessman saw the flicker in her eyes as she glanced at her cousin, who appeared a little embarrassed.

"Really?" Linda asked, her voice slightly softer with less edge.

"Oh, yeah," Oliver answered, knowing she was slowly cooling down. "Every time we'd meet he'd always have something to brag on : from a new power coming in, to how talented of an artist you are—and from what I saw downstairs it's not an exaggeration," the corners of his mouth curled up a little, "to single-handedly kicking Rudy Jones' ass."

Linda's cheeks turn red from embarrassment as her body language continued shifting into a less defensive posture. "So, why didn't you want me to know about you before tonight?" she asked.

"Would you have honestly given me a fair shot had you known it was me," Oliver asked, looking pointedly at her, "or would you have automatically assumed I was here for some nefarious purpose instead?" He glanced over at Jimmy, who also appeared to be calming down, even if he still looked like he would punch Oliver if the moment presented itself.

"You can't blame me," Linda said, her voice softer.

"No," Oliver replied, "and Clark did warn me you wouldn't be happy when you found out, but I honestly just wanted to get to know you better—and I figured if you knew who I was, you'd always be on guard."

"And the last-minute invitation?" Jimmy asked curiously.

"I figured Linda would be so curious about who I was," Oliver explained, "that she wouldn't have enough time to have second thoughts." He took a deep breath and let it out as he looked back at Linda. "Look, I know this whole thing sucks, but I'm really sorry I upset you." He held out his hand, putting on a charming smile. "Am I forgiven?"

Clark and Jimmy glanced at Linda, knowing the ball was in her court. Her features appeared hard and set, and she slowly approached Oliver, arms crossed—and both Clark and Jimmy wondered if she was about ready to tell the businessman where he could stick one of his arrows.

"Part of me wants to say 'iru inferen,'" the teenager said after a few moments.

"Which means?" Oliver asked slowly.

"It's the Kryptonian version of 'go to hell,'" Linda answered. Oliver's smile faded a little, and the teenager took a deep breath. "But I can tell you're being sincere and I'm willing to give you a second chance," she slowly smiled as she extended her hand toward the businessman, "especially since you obviously appreciate good art." Oliver smiled in return and shook her offered hand.

"Well, now that we have all that settled," Clark said, "we ready to get back to the party?"

"Just one more thing," Linda replied. "Mr. Queen, I—"

"Oliver, please," the businessman interrupted. "We're all friends here, right?"

"Okay, Oliver," Linda continued, "could you do me a favor the next time you invite me to anything?"

"Sure," Oliver replied.

"Don't ever buy me a dress again," Linda said. "It's very nice and all, but it seems a little creepy getting a dress from an older guy I hardly know—even if it's a token of apology."

"Yeah, people might get the wrong impression about what that apology's for," Jimmy added, smirking a little; he still didn't like the guy much, so he figured he'd get a bit of a dig in.

"Duly noted," Oliver replied, trying not to smile at the veiled insult, "and don't worry; I won't buy your girlfriend another dress or do anything that might seem like I'm invading your territory."

"'Girlfriend'?" the teenagers asked together.

"Yeah," Oliver answered. "I mean, not too many people can do the whole inter-species relationship thing and actually make it look cute."

"We're not a couple," teenagers said in unison, looking embarrassed.

"I'm going to get some food," Linda said as she brushed past Oliver and quickly headed out of the room.

"Yeah, and I got pictures to take," Jimmy added, leaving just as quickly, leaving Clark and Oliver by themselves.

"They're not dating?" Oliver asked, confused.

"It's…complicated," Clark replied before patting his friend's shoulder. "Come on, Mr. Queen, your guests await." The two of them headed out of the room together.

(End of Chapter 7)


	8. Chapter 8

Dick stuck a toothpick onto a baby carrot, attaching it to another carrot; holding the two vegetables in his hand, he glanced at the broccoli and cauliflower on his plate, trying to figure out where he was going to attach them.

"Too bad you don't have any glue."

Dick stood straighter, and he smiled as he turned around. When he saw Linda, he raised an eyebrow, whistling softly, impressed. "Wow," he said. "You know, it's a shame you don't have red hair."

"Oh?" Linda asked, amused.

"Yeah, then you'd be smokin' hot," Dick answered, grinning; he sighed, pretending to look sympathetic. "Unfortunately, you're just gonna have to settle for beautiful."

"And you don't look too bad yourself," Linda replied, grinning, before the two hugged each other.

"How's it going?" Dick asked as they pulled away.

"Not too bad," Linda replied, shrugging slightly; she glanced at her friend uneasily. "Did you know about Oliver?"

Dick winced a little. "Please don't hate me," he said. "Bruce told me to keep it a secret."

"It's okay," Linda replied sincerely. "I don't like it too much…but I get it." She raised an eyebrow. "So, uh, Alfred told me you and Bruce would be here when I arrived, but I couldn't find either one of you."

"Yeah, Bruce and I were working on something," Dick said, dropping his voice, "but I can't say anything here—too many ears."

Linda nodded, understanding, and she nodded at Dick's food sculpture. "So, what are you designing?" she asked.

"Not sure," Dick replied, glancing at his masterpiece. "I was thinking a scale model of the Eiffel Tower, but I'm not sure I have enough toothpicks." He didn't hear a response, so he looked at Linda and saw her staring at something in the distance; he glanced over and slowly smiled as he leaned slightly toward her. "So, are you planning on saying something **before** or **after** the holidays?"

"Huh?" Linda asked, distracted.

"Like 'L.K. hearts J.O' in skywriting or something like that?" Dick continued.

"What are you talking about?" Linda asked, looking over in confusion.

"I got it," Dick replied. "You could have Clark holding a big, long sign that says 'Linda and Jimmy = Forever;' he could fly it around Metropolis for an entire day."

"Will you stop that?" Linda asked, her cheeks turning pink. "You know I haven't made my decision yet."

"Yeah right," Dick snorted. "As long as I've known the both of you, you two haven't been able to keep your eyes off each other," he glanced over at Jimmy as the photographer roved around, taking photos, "just like Jimmy's doing right now."

"Jimmy's taking pictures right now," Linda sweetly pointed out.

"Yeah, and most of them have been of you," Dick sweetly countered.

"No, they're not," Linda replied. "I've been watching him."

"Obviously not that well," Dick said, "because **I** have, and he has been sneaking shots of you for as long as we've been talking." He almost laughed at Linda's embarrassed expression and decided not to press the issue any further. "Anyway, why don't you show me your stuff?" He didn't wait for an answer as he took her hand and pulled her toward away from the bar.

"There's not much you haven't seen," Linda replied halfheartedly as Dick led her through the crowd.

"What about this one?" Dick asked as he stopped in front of a large canvas. It was a watercolor landscape of a field of sunflowers at sunset, with the Smallville water tower centered in the background. "This one's new."

"That's the one Ollie asked me to make," Linda explained. "Well, not this exactly, but I thought it'd be a nice representative of our town."

"It's too light."

Linda and Dick glanced over as Bruce—dressed in a sharp tuxedo—walked over, smiling. Linda raised an eyebrow; she knew Bruce had to act differently in public, but it was borderline creepy seeing Bruce behaving so…nicely.

"I think you should have gone with something a bit darker," Bruce continued.

"Well, don't worry, Bruce," Linda replied, smirking, "it's just a pretend sun; it won't burn your skin." Dick covered up a laugh by snorting into his hand; Bruce raised an eyebrow, looking amused, but Linda knew better than to think he actually found her joke funny.

"I think Bruce is just feeling left out, Linda," Clark said, smiling, as he and Oliver walked up to the group.

"Maybe you could do a watercolor in navy blue and black to make him feel more at home," Ollie suggested, "or maybe something that glows in the dark."

"Or maybe you can let the artist decide for herself what she wants to draw," Linda pointed out gently, smiling, "because right now I'm formulating an idea involving kittens in hues of red, blue, yellow, and green."

"That actually sounds cool," Dick spoke up. "You should do that; I would **pay** you to do that drawing—and you gotta add a navy blue or black cat— **and** you gotta put them all in tutus." The adults glanced at him, and Dick gave a sheepish grin before he grabbed Linda's hand and pulled her away to look at another painting.

"This is why I work alone," Oliver remarked, amused. He tilted his head as he stared at the painting. "She really does have a lot of potential, Clark."

"My thoughts exactly." The trio stiffened slightly as they recognized the voice. They turned and saw Lex approaching, smiling as he held a champagne flute.

"Lex," Clark said, trying not to sound surprised, "I didn't know you were invited."

"I wasn't," Lex replied as he glanced at Oliver, "but I'm sure it was just a clerical error, right, Oliver?"

"Yeah, of course," Oliver replied, "and I'm sure your arm candy couldn't find a good dress, either," his eyes narrowed slightly, "or did she just spring a leak again?"

Lex smiled tightly. "So, I hear you and Bruce are going to be doing more business in Smallville," he continued.

"Yeah," Oliver replied, "we're gonna start construction on the new plant after Thanksgiving, after we get rid of that eyesore—I mean your old plant—near Riley Field."

"Why are you here, Lex?" Bruce asked abruptly.

"I see we're past the small talk," Lex replied, a little amused before he took a sip of his drink. "Very well. As a friend of the Kent family, I'm simply here to make sure Linda's not being taken advantage of. I mean, if I didn't know Oliver's reputation," he glanced at Oliver, "then I'd wonder why he'd extend an invitation to a fifteen year old girl who—as you've already mentioned, Oliver—has a lot of potential."

"Lex," Clark spoke up as he tried to maintain a calm demeanor, "do you honestly think my parents and I would allow Linda to come here if we felt Oliver's intentions were less than honorable?"

"Of course not, Clark," Lex replied, "but I don't think Oliver's been completely honest with you **about** his intentions concerning your cousin."

Clark furrowed his eyebrows, confused. "Oliver's been completely honest with my family," he said before he glanced at his friend. He saw the businessman shift ever so slightly while trying to maintain a calm demeanor; Clark just stared at him. "Oliver?"

Oliver pursed his lips slightly before sighing. "Look," he said, "before you jump to any conclusion, this has—"

"So, it's true?" Clark asked in disbelief.

"You don't even know what 'it' is, Clark," Oliver replied.

"Lex, Bruce, I don't mean to be rude," Clark said, never taking his eyes off Oliver, "but could please excuse Oliver and me? We need to talk."

"Of course," Lex replied before glancing at Oliver, trying not to smirk as he walked away; Bruce didn't budge from his spot.

"Bruce, I want to talk to Ollie alone," Clark said, his voice low and serious.

"I'm staying," Bruce replied, unwavering.

"No, you're not," Clark said, fixing the Gothamite with an expression that said 'don't push me, Bruce.' Bruce just stared right back at him, unfazed; Clark didn't want to waste any more time as he turned back to Oliver. "You have one chance: what are you hiding?"

Oliver glanced at Bruce. "This is why we should have told him sooner," he said.

Clark looked at Bruce in disbelief. "You, too?"

Bruce nodded unapologetically before taking a sip from his glass. "It was my idea," he simply said.

(End of Chapter 8)


	9. Chapter 9

"Have you ever considered doing this professionally?" Dick asked, staring in awe at an oil landscape of the Kent Farm at sunrise from the viewpoint of standing on the porch.

"I've considered it," Linda replied, looking a little embarrassed, "but I honestly don't think anything'll come of it."

"Why?" Dick asked. "You're really good."

"You're only saying that because you're my friend," Linda remarked, smiling, " and you're supposed to say I'm good."

"He wouldn't be much of a friend if he was lying, would he?" Linda and Dick looked over as Jimmy approached, holding his camera, smiling a little. "Hey, Linda."

"Hi, Jimmy," Linda replied, smiling.

"You look really great," Jimmy said.

Linda blushed a little. "Thanks," she replied. "You too."

Dick rolled his eyes, smiling. "Oh, brother," he muttered before clearing his throat loudly. "Not to sound conceited, but I think I look pretty good, too." He grinned as the two glanced over at him, looking embarrassed. "Welcome back." He glanced at Jimmy. "Getting some good shots?"

"Hope so," Jimmy answered. "Mr. White threatened to send me up to meet Caesar's ghost if I didn't."

"You should be more confident about your abilities, Jimmy."

The teenagers stiffened slightly as they recognized the voice and turned to see Lex approaching, holding a shoebox-shaped package wrapped in shiny, purple wrapping paper.

"Just like Linda should be more confident in hers," Lex finished, smiling at the young woman.

Linda gave a forced smile. "Thank you, Mr. Luthor," she replied.

"So, still with the last name, huh?" Lex asked, amused. Linda shrugged slightly, but she didn't answer. "Well, hopefully some day you'll feel comfortable using my first name, but until then," he held up the package, "this is for you."

"Uh, why?" Linda asked slowly.

"Well, it's not every day someone your age shows both an interest in the arts," Lex replied, "and the talent to match it." He smiled and shrugged as he handed the package to her. "This is just my way of helping to nurture that talent."

Linda stared at the package for a second before glancing briefly between her friends before she reluctantly accepted the package. "Thank you," she replied. She took a deep breath and carefully unwrapped the package. She handed the paper to Dick before she took the top off the box; she sucked in her breath. "Whoa."

"What is it?" Jimmy asked.

Linda held up a small, crystal jar with a silver twist lid; inside was a rich red liquid. "What is it?" she asked, intrigued.

"A complete set of paints," Lex answered.

"Linda already has **plenty** of paints," Jimmy said with a slight edge in his voice.

"I doubt she has these particular ones," Lex replied. "These were designed in my lab, with the the base for each coming from a mineral found in this state. The one in Linda's hand is made with red opalite." He watched as Linda unscrewed the lid, taking a closer look at the vivid red paint inside. "What do you think?"

Despite her feelings about Lex, Linda had to admit it was a very thoughtful gift. The color was more vivid that she had ever seen with her other colors. "I think it's really nice," she said as she replaced the lid and put the jar back in the box; she wordlessly handed the box to Dick before grabbing another jar; she removed it and unscrewed the lid to view view deep purple paint inside.

"That's made with fluorite," Lex replied. Linda put the jar back in the box and rummaged around. "I have every color in there, from orange jasper to white marcasite."

Linda pulled out another jar and held it up, He watched as Linda pulled another jar out and stared at the rich, jade-green paint. "What did you use for this one?" she asked as she unscrewed the lid and removed it. She suddenly felt sick and nauseous as she felt her insides tighten and her knees grow weak.

"Meteor rock," Lex replied. He tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows as Linda paled and shook, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. "Linda, are you okay?"

Despite pain resonating through every inch of her body, Linda forced herself to stand upright. She couldn't give Lex any reason to suspect her, but with every passing second she found it more difficult to stay vertical. "I'm…fine," she replied weakly.

"Linda, did you eat the shrimp?" Dick asked Linda as he quickly took the jar and lid from Linda, quickly screwed it on, and put the jar back in the box; he all but shoved the box into Lex's hands before turning back to his friend.

"Yeah," Linda replied softly, playing along.

"You know you have a shellfish sensitivity," Dick chastised as he gently put his arm around Linda's waist. "Come on, you look like you're going to hurl—and, trust me, no one wants to see or smell puked-up shrimp." He looked in the direction where Clark, Bruce, and Oliver were talking; Clark appeared angry, and Dick didn't dare make a commotion in public. He glanced back at Jimmy, giving him a look; Jimmy nodded slightly, unseen by Lex, before Dick carefully guided Linda through the crowd to the bathroom.

"Why would Linda eat something if she's sensitive to it?" Lex asked.

"She really likes shrimp," Jimmy replied, trying to keep a calm demeanor as he stared at the businessman, desperately wishing he could tackle Lex and beat him to a bloody pulp. He glanced over at Clark and the others, then looked back at Lex; the two just stared at each other for a few seconds before Jimmy adjusted his bowtie and pulled his camera strap further up his shoulder. "Here," he quickly leaned over and took the box from Lex, "I'll make sure this gets to Linda when she's feeling better."

Lex appeared amused as he raised an eyebrow. "Well," he said after a momentary pause, "it's nice to know Linda has someone so considerate in her life." He took a step toward the food counter and collided with a young waiter carrying a tray of flutes filled with champagne. The waiter fumbled with the tray, but the glasses fell, spilling champagne all over the front of Lex's tux, before they hit the ground and smashed into hundreds of pieces.

Everyone turned and stared as the mortified waiter pulled his handkerchief from his coat pocket and apologized repeatedly, patting Lex's front. The businessman wordlessly grabbed the handkerchief from the waiter, shooting him an annoyed look, and mopped up some of the liquid on his jacket; the waiter ducked his head as he knelt down and began picking up broken pieces of glass, putting them on his tray.

"Is everything okay?" Oliver asked as he hurried over with Clark and Bruce following.

"I'm not one to criticize others," Lex answered, "but I would seriously look into another catering service for your next social gathering—one that hires waiters with a little more…coordination." He glared briefly at the waiter once more before turning and heading for the entrance; the waiter finished picking up the glass and quickly got to his feet, keeping his head down he hurried into the back room.

"What happened?" Oliver asked Jimmy as everyone went back to their business.

"Not much," Jimmy replied, trying not to smile too much. "Lex turned and bumped into the waiter, but, uh, I wouldn't be so hard on him; it wasn't his fault."

"What do you mean?" Oliver asked. "He didn't just blunder into Luthor?"

"Nope," Jimmy replied cheerfully, "I paid him to bubbly-bomb Baldy." He almost laughed out loud at the disbelieving expressions on the adults' faces, but then he remembered the box in his hands and dropped his voice, looking serious. "Oh, uh, here, these were from Lex to Linda. He said they were all made of different minerals," he all but shoved the box into Bruce's hands, "but I wouldn't open the green one—it has kryptonite in it."

"Where's Linda?" Clark asked, concerned, as he stared uneasily at the box in Bruce's hands.

"In the bathroom," Jimmy replied, noticing Bruce's and Oliver's serious expressions as he pulled his strap up his shoulder. "Dick got her away pretty quickly, but she still looked pretty bad."

Clark brushed past the photographer, making his way through the crowd toward the bathrooms; Jimmy shot one more glance at Bruce and Oliver before following his friend; the two businessman stared at the box in Bruce's hands.

"You think he suspects anything?" Oliver asked quietly.

"Not sure," Bruce replied, his voice low. "I'll have to run tests." He glanced over at Oliver; the businessman's jaw and fists were clenched, his features subtly hardened. "You can't just go off after him—especially not now—then he **will** suspect her."

"So, we just let him walk away?" Oliver asked quietly. When Bruce didn't respond, Oliver glanced over; Bruce had tilted his head, as if he was listening to something far away. "Bruce?"

"Thanks, Alfred," Bruce replied quietly before turning to Oliver. "You were saying?"

Oliver raised his eyebrow as he finally noticed the nearly-invisible earpiece in Bruce's left ear, and the small black dot on his jacket lapel. "Did you know Lex would show up?" he asked.

"I had a strong suspicion," Bruce answered.

"And you couldn't bother sharing this with me?" Oliver asked, looking a little insulted. Bruce just stared at him, and Oliver sighed. "Whatever. So, what did you find out?"

"Alfred was able to scan Lex's limo," Bruce replied. "The scanner picked up a ring-sized lead box in the back of the car."

Oliver raised an eyebrow. "So, he really has one, huh?" he asked. Bruce nodded. "Well, I say we now have our reason."

"' **We** ' are not doing anything," Bruce replied. " **You** have an obligation to your patrons," he smiled smugly, "but **I** have no such commitment." He turned and left Oliver, heading toward the entrance.

"Not fair," Oliver muttered before he headed toward the bathroom.

(End of Chapter 9)


	10. Chapter 10

Lex leaned back in his seat as the limo headed down Route 8 in the direction of the Luthor Manor; he was still annoyed by the clumsy waiter, making a mental note to ensure the young man wouldn't be able to find a job scrubbing floors the next morning. The businessman brushed the thought aside as he stared at the small lead box in his hands for a few moments before lifting the lid. Lex just gazed at the kryptonite ring nestled inside, still mesmerized by the power contained in the small jewel; he took the ring and carefully slipped it on his right ring finger.

The limo suddenly swerved to the right, and Lex went tumbling as the car suddenly squealed to a stop; the businessman growled as he looked up. "Mercy, what the hell is going on?" Mercy didn't get a chance to answer as the driver's side window suddenly shattered, and she was yanked out. Lex heard her shouting and some scuffling, then after a few moments there was silence. "Mercy?" More silence. "Mercy?"

A gloved hand suddenly broke through the sun roof, and glass rained down on Lex; he covered his head reflexively, but a second later the glove hand grabbed Lex's tie and yanked the businessman up. Lex, wheezing and struggling, finally saw his attacker glaring at him from behind a dark rubber cowl.

"You caped lunatic!" Lex shouted, glaring at the vigilante. "Where's Mercy?"

"Taking a nap," Batman replied, his voice low with edge.

Lex glanced to his left and saw Mercy laying on the side of the road, unconscious. Lex turned back to Batman. "You're going to pay for this!"

"You need to get new idle threats, Luthor," Batman said.

"So, now you've resorted to following me?" Lex asked. "What, things getting boring in Gotham without any freaks to deal with?"

"I wanted to make sure your minions weren't around," Batman answered. "You have something I want, Luthor, and I'm taking it—now."

Before Lex could react Batman swiftly reached down and yanked the kryptonite ring off, cutting Lex's finger in the process, before putting the ring into a compartment on his belt; he then effortlessly tossed Lex aside. Lex went tumbling, stopping near the unconscious Mercy. He groaned as he slowly looked up at the limo, and he did a double take. Batman was gone. Lex slowly narrowed his eyes as he growled softly. He loathed when Batman did that—and now he had another reason to despise the Gotham vigilante.

* * *

Linda leaned against the tiled wall as she sat on the bathroom floor, breathing slowly; she had finally stopped shaking, but she still looked a little pale and felt nauseous. Clark knelt on her left side, dabbing her cheeks with a damp paper towel, while Jimmy knelt on her right, rubbing her shoulder; Dick held her glasses as he and Oliver stood nearby, watching her with concern.

"You okay?" Jimmy asked gently.

"I hate kryptonite," Linda mumbled softly as she she rubbed the bridge of her nose; it felt like someone was jabbing a sharp needle right between her eyes. "How long does the headache last again?"

"Shouldn't be too much longer," Clark said as he tossed the towel into a nearby trashcan. "The pain gets shorter with every exposure."

"That's comforting," Linda muttered. She slowly breathed in through her nose and her stomach lurched. "Ooh, okay that wasn't such a good idea."

"So, now what?" Dick asked. "Does this mean Lex knows about Linda?"

"He doesn't know about me," Linda said softly.

"How do you know that?" Jimmy asked.

"Because I scanned his mind before opening his gift," Linda answered.

"Why didn't you just x-ray the package?" Oliver asked.

"Because I figured telepathy was a little more subtle than staring at the package like an idiot," Linda answered as she glanced up at him, slightly annoyed. She saw Oliver's concerned expression and sighed, her expression softening. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Oliver replied with practiced calm, while he seethed inside. Lex had never been one of his favorite people, but going after a kid on an apparent hunch crossed too many lines for the archer to count.

The bathroom door opened, and everyone tensed as they looked over, expecting to see a party guests entering—and then causing a commotion at seeing a bunch of men surrounding a lone teenage girl all but laying on the floor. They relaxed when they recognized Bruce—back in his tux—staring at them for a moment before closing the door behind him.

"So, did he have it?" Oliver asked.

"Not anymore," Bruce answered.

"Where is it now?" Clark asked.

"Safe," Bruce replied.

"Which is code for 'Alfred has it until I can get it into the cave,'" Dick muttered.

"Look, I know Lex likes kryptonite because of what it does," Jimmy replied, "but it's kinda starting to border on being a fetish: first a ring, now paints—not to mention the other stuff he's made out of it."

"What about Lex?" Clark asked.

"I started an analysis of the paints before I went after him," Bruce answered, "checked it when I returned. Lex was telling the truth: each of those painted as a base compound of a different mineral native to Kansas—which includes kryptonite."

"I was actually asking about his physical condition, Bruce," Clark said pointedly.

"He'll live," Bruce replied, "but he's going to need roadside assistance," the corners of his mouth twitching slightly, "and an ambulance."

"Please tell me he's going to have to stay overnight for observation," Oliver said hopefully.

"His driver will," Bruce commented, "but Lex will still need to be looked at; may have a few bruised ribs."

"Nice," Oliver replied, grinning.

"You two aren't setting a good example," Clark remarked.

"That's why we keep you around, Clark," Oliver joked.

Clark looked less than amused as he stood up. "And what about Linda?" he asked. "What are your plans for her?"

"'Plans'?" Jimmy asked, confused. "What plans?"

"She's here now, so why don't you tell her?" Clark demanded, glancing between Bruce and Oliver.

"Clark, what's going on?" Linda asked, furrowing her eyebrows as she sat up straighter. "Tell me what?" She stared at Oliver, tilting her head; after a few seconds her expression changed to a look of disbelief. "You were going to hire me?"

"You peeked," Bruce responded, frowning.

"I'm confused," Dick replied slowly.

Linda took a deep breath and slowly got to her feet, groaning slightly from the effort. "Oliver and Bruce were going to buy my paintings," she said, "and then offer me a job as a joint freelance artist for both of their companies." She glared at the businessmen. "Isn't ten million a bit much for a few paintings?"

"Ten million…dollars?" Jimmy asked, stunned.

"Yeah," Linda replied, still glaring at Bruce and Oliver, "and all I have to do is sign a contract saying I'm under their employment." She looked straight at Oliver. "I can't believe you actually looked me in the eye and told me you thought my art was good."

"I really do, Linda," Oliver said sincerely. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but Bruce and I don't have doing this for your protection."

"By treating me like chattel?" Linda asked. She still felt sick, but it was nothing to the anger building inside her; she took as deep a breath as she dared and closed her eyes, calming down a little. "Clark, I wanna go home—and I want **all** my paintings returned immediately."

"Yeah, we're done here," Clark replied, giving his teammates one last glare before brushing past them and opening the door; Linda walked out, not even bothering to give Bruce or Oliver a second glance.

"I'm coming, too," Jimmy replied in a monotone voice before leaving.

Before heading out, Clark turned to face Bruce and Oliver, his expression serious. "I don't know what you two are really planning," he said, his voice low, "but Linda is **completely** off limits—and that's not an idle threat." He left without giving them a chance to respond.

* * *

Linda quietly walked into the barn the next morning; she wore a red and white plaid shirt, long denim overalls, work boots, and a brown jacket lined with fleece; her glasses were tucked into one of the pockets, and her hair was pulled back in a loose braid. She flipped the lights on before walking over to the bales of hay stacked nearby; she stared at the pile for a few moments before taking a deep breath and effortlessly grabbing the bale on the top.

Without so much as a second thought, she tossed the bale into the loft then blurred up the stairs and caught it in less than a second; she used her telekinesis to snap the wires holding the hay together, then took the individual squares and tossed them into the pile of hay. When she finished, she took the cut wire and carefully compressed it into a small ball before turning around—and almost bumping into Jimmy; she yelped softly in surprise.

"Oh, crap, I'm so sorry," Jimmy said apologetically.

"It's okay," Linda replied, slightly unnerved. "You know, I really can't wait until my hearing kicks in." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "So, what are you doing up this early? It's five-thirty in the morning."

"I heard you leaving," Jimmy replied as he pulled his winter jacket closer around him, thankful he had remembered to pack it. "What are you doing out here?"

"My chores," Linda answered, smiling a little. "This is a farm, after all, and the work doesn't stop just because there's a holiday—or house guests."

"Yeah, but as you pointed out," Jimmy said, "it's five-thirty in the morning." He raised an eyebrow in concern. "You okay? Have you slept at all?"

"Not really," Linda replied, her smile fading before heading over to her area of the loft; Jimmy walked beside her. "I mean, it's not like a need a lot of sleep anyway."

"Yeah, well, powers or no powers," Jimmy said gently, "you need your sleep."

"I know," Linda replied, "but with everything going on lately, I've had a rough time getting a lot of sleep lately." She stopped at the open loft window, leaning against it and staring out; the faintest hint of sunlight peered over the horizon, giving the cloudy sky a gloomy gray appearance that fit Linda's current mood.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jimmy asked gently as he leaned against the window, beside her.

"Will you promise not to freak out?" Linda asked.

"Of course," Jimmy replied slowly, a little confused. "Is this about last night?"

"No," Linda replied, trying not to sound too bothered; she took a deep breath, collecting herself. "I, uh, I had a dream Saturday night…about the Flamebird."

"Well, with everything that was going on," Jimmy replied, "that's not too surprising."

"It kept repeating 'destiny,'" Linda said, "and then it flew at me, engulfing me in flames—and then I woke up."

"That doesn't sound too different from some of the dreams I've had," Jimmy said; he chuckled softly. "Last year, I'm watching this Japanese monster movie late one night while I'm eating a pizza with all the toppings—I actually had the whole thing before going to bed—and ended up dreaming I was a giant turtle monster." Grinning, he looked over at Linda, who stared at him with a strange expression; his smile faded as he cleared his throat. "Anyway, I wouldn't be worried about it."

"What if I said when I woke up," Linda continued, "I was in the Kawatche cave?"

"What do you mean you were in the cave?" Jimmy asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Exactly what I said," Linda replied. "I woke up, and I was standing in the middle of the cave…and I'm not even sure how I got there." Jimmy just stared at her for a few moments, his mouth open slightly, before he suddenly turned and headed toward the stairs. "Where are you going?"

"To wake your parents," Jimmy replied, "because I have a feeling you haven't said anything to them." Linda blurred over and blocked him from reaching the stairs. "Linda, out of my way."

"You said dreams are funny things, right?" Linda asked.

"This is different," Jimmy said seriously. "You went to sleep in your bed and woke up in the Kawatche cave."

"I'm fine," Linda insisted.

Jimmy stared at her in disbelief. "Explain to me which part of this whole thing is 'fine,' Linda: the weird visions, the dream, or waking up in the cave without any idea how you got there."

Linda sighed, annoyed, as she crossed her arms. "So much for not freaking out." She brushed past him and headed back to the loft window, keeping her back to Jimmy.

Jimmy pursed his lips, setting his features as he walked over to her, standing a few feet behind her. "Look, I know you think you gotta have this whole 'I gotta be strong' thing," he said, his voice laced with calm anger, "but don't get mad with me when I give my opinion about something you don't want to hear."

"Only because you're sounding exactly like everyone else," Linda said as she turned to face him. "You just worried about me being seen—or hurting someone."

"Yeah, **you** ," Jimmy snapped.

Linda stopped and just stared at him, stunned. "Me?" she asked after a few moments.

Jimmy's expression calmed down slightly as he sighed. "Yeah," he said. "If you had caused damage or someone saw you, or you accidentally hurt someone, you would have blamed yourself. I've seen Clark go through it several times," he shook his head, "I don't want you going through that as well." He saw Linda's eyes grow bright with tears, and he sighed, his expression softening, as he approached her; he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her. "Come on, none of that."

"Why is this happening to me?" Linda asked, clinging to him.

"I don't know," Jimmy replied honestly as he pulled back to look down at her, "but we'll figure it out; I'm sure your family—"

"Can we not tell them just yet?" Linda gently interrupted.

"Linda," Jimmy said, giving her a look.

"I'm not saying never," Linda said. "I'm just saying they worry about me enough as it is," she shrugged, "and maybe they won't if we figure this out on our own."

"'Our own'?" Jimmy asked, raising an eyebrow.

Linda nodded. "I'm sure the two of us working together might be able to come up with something." She gave him a pleading expression. "Please?"

Jimmy sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Okay, okay," he finally said. "I'll keep my trap shut—for now."

Linda smiled gratefully. "Thank you," she said.

"Yeah, yeah," Jimmy muttered, trying to sound mildly annoyed; he saw movement outside the loft window and squinted—then he slowly smiled when he realized what it was. He gently grabbed Linda's hand and led the confused girl to the window. "Look." Linda looked out and sucked in her breath as she saw the tiny flake swirling around in the bright gray of the first morning light.

"Snow," she said, a smile spreading on her face as she stared out, seeing the world getting blanketed in white. The young girl slowly stuck her hand out, feeling the feathery flakes brush against her bare skin. She sighed and leaned against the open window, watching the flakes dance in the sky as they made their way down. Jimmy propped his arms against the open window beside Linda, staring at her; he saw the glimmer of wonder and awe in her eyes, and the photographer allowed himself a small smile.

(End of Chapter 10)


	11. Chapter 11

Jonathan and Martha padded out of the bedroom, dressed for the day, and they stopped when they picked up some familiar aromas wafting down the hall. The two of them glanced at each other, a little confused, before they headed toward the stairs; they heard the sound of pots and pans clinking in the kitchen, as well as soft voices. The adults quietly made their way down, stopping near the foot of the stairs.

Linda wore an apron over her clothes and had a light coat of flour on her cheeks as she mixed beaten eggs in a bowl. Jimmy stood next to her in front of the stove, some of the yellow concoction on his nose. He carefully watching two skillets on the stove, both with a mixture of raw eggs, chopped peppers, tomatoes, mushrooms, and grated cheese cooking in them, using a spatula to keep the food from burning.

"This is a nice surprise," Martha spoke up. Linda and Jimmy looked over, a little startled, but they quickly relaxed when they saw the adults smiling. "What's the occasion?"

"Well, we figured since Mom is going to be cooking tomorrow," Linda replied as she and Jimmy went back to making breakfast, "we thought we'd pitch in a little today."

"Well, I certainly won't complain," Martha said as she and Jonathan walked over.

"How long have you two been up?" Jonathan asked, trying not to appear concerned.

"Long enough for Linda to do all the chores," Jimmy answered, "and then build ten snowmen, sculpt a snowcat and a snowdog, and then to beat me at a snowball fight before we came in to work on breakfast."

"So, what do you think of snow, Linda?" Martha asked.

Linda grinned. "It's amazing," she replied. "I hope it lasts a while; I can't wait to have another snowball fight."

"Yeah, well, I'm not playing with you anymore, Miss Cheater," Jimmy replied.

"You picked a snowball fight with a girl who has telekinesis," Linda countered.

"Yeah, but ten snowballs at once is overkill," Jimmy retorted as he grabbed a nearby plate and used his spatula to transfer the cooked eggs to a plate; he put the plate aside then grabbed another and repeated the process with the other eggs. He took both plates and set them on the island in front of Jonathan and Martha, then grabbed a couple of forks from a nearby drawer, handing them to the adults.

"Jimmy, this looks and smells wonderful," Jonathan said, smiling as he and Martha dug into their food.

"And it tastes amazing," Martha replied around a mouthful; she quickly swallowed, smiling, before looking over at her husband, nodding appreciatively as he chewed. "Jimmy, this is really good."

"You think so?" Jimmy asked, surprised.

"Jimmy, would we lie to you?" Jonathan asked. His fork stopped mid-way to his mouth when he saw everyone looking at him, and he sighed. "Aside from Clark and Linda."

"Told you they'd like it," Linda replied, patting Jimmy's shoulder before she started gathering dishes and put them in the sink.

"Aren't you two going to eat?" Martha asked.

"Already did before we made yours," Jimmy answered.

"So, since the chores are done," Linda said, "and I've already done all my homework, I was wondering if I Jimmy and I could go exploring today."

"And where would you two be doing your exploring?" Jonathan asked as he and his wife continued eating.

"The Kawatche cave," Linda replied. Jonathan and Martha both stopped eating and looked up at the teenagers.

"I should have known there was a hidden agenda," Jonathan muttered as he glanced up at the two.

"Why do you want to go to the cave?" Martha asked.

"Because Jimmy hasn't seen the inside of it," Linda answered, "and, despite everything that's already happened, it's still a piece of my heritage—and Clark's too." She saw her parents glance between themselves; she was tempted to scan their minds, but she knew better. "Look, I promise we'll be careful."

Jonathan saw his wife shrug, and he sighed. "Okay," he said, "but only if you be careful."

"And after you clean the kitchen," Martha added.

Linda blurred around the kitchen; in a few seconds, the food had been put up, dishes had been washed and dried and put in their place, and the counters and stove wiped clean. "Done," she replied.

Jonathan sighed, trying not to smile. "Get out of here, you two," he said. Jimmy and Linda glanced at each other and tried not to grin as they grabbed their coats from the coatrack, shrugging into them as they headed out the door. "And don't be gone all day."

"You know they're only going because of Dr. Swann's paper," Martha replied. Jonathan nodded. "Jonathan, you're not worried they could get into trouble."

"I don't know," Jonathan replied, "but I feel better knowing where they are instead of them sneaking around." He raised an eyebrow. "Besides, if something happens, Clark is just a phone call away."

* * *

Jimmy raised an eyebrow as he looked around the cave, his mouth slightly open as his gaze fell on the cave drawings. "Wow," he said softly. He had remembered Linda telling him about the drawings before, but it was whole different ballgame actually seeing them. "So, these are them, huh?

Linda nodded. "Yeah."

"Are you sure you disabled **all** the security measures?" Jimmy asked as he looked around uncertainly.

"Jimmy, if I hadn't," Linda replied, "you'd know." She walked over to the back wall, staring at the large symbol; Jimmy noticed and joined her.

"Isn't that the symbol from Dr. Swann's paper?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Yeah," Linda replied softly.

"So, is it 'Crusade' or 'Fire' here?" Jimmy asked.

"I don't know," Linda replied before sighing. "To be honest, I thought it meant 'Stronghold,' but I'm not so sure anymore," she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her octagonal key, "but I think there might be a way to find out for sure." She headed over to a nearby wall with a key slot.

"Okay, what are you doing?" Jimmy asked slowly he followed her.

"Trying to get some answers," Linda replied as she let go of the key. Jimmy stared in awe as the key floated at chest level, turning over and rotating before flying into the wall. The symbols lit up on key in red, blue, and yellow, and the wall symbols lit up in bright white before rotating in alternating circles.

Linda stared at the symbols, watching them for a few moments, before she reached out and touched some symbols in each of the circles; they lit up in alternating colors of red, blue, and yellow. The symbols stopped, and Jimmy could have sworn he heard the sound of metal clicking into place echoing around him; he glanced around briefly, expecting to see him, before turning back to the wall. His eyes widened as he saw a wide beam of light enveloping Linda, her eyes clouded over.

"Li oferti ili aspekti cxe la cxielo kaj levi ilia al la stelo," Linda's voice resonated loudly through the caves, but Jimmy could tell she hadn't raised her voice.

* * *

A small silvery object floated above the earth, undetected for years by the inhabitants below; it was damaged, waiting in silence. Suddenly, its interior lights turned on, its circuitry powering up. The ship began repairing itself, knowing it was just a matter of time.

* * *

A man in dark clothes walked silently down the city sidewalk, keeping to himself. He wasn't tall or bulky, but he had a presence about him that indicated he was not someone to be trifled with. He suddenly stopped and narrowed his eyes as he looked skyward, lips straight, his body tensing.

"And so it begins," he said, his voice low with edge.

* * *

Jimmy continued staring at Linda as he reached out to her shoulder. The moment his fingers touched the light, he felt an electrical charge surge through his fingers; he yelped in pain and reflexively pulled back as his fingers instantly numbed. He heard a groaning sound behind him and turned to see the symbol on the back wall lighting up in; he watched as a crack formed in the center of the symbol and grew up and down in a straight line. Once the crack had reached the ceiling and floor, the two parts of the wall separated like a pair of sliding doors.

Holding his injured hand, Jimmy quickly looked over at Linda in time to see the light around her disappear; they symbols darkened and stopped rotating, and the key flew from the slot and into Linda's outstretched hand. Her eyes returned to their normal vivid blue color—right before she collapsed to her knees, breathing hard.

"Linda," Jimmy said as he hurried over and knelt beside her.

"I'm fine," Linda panted softly.

"Really?" Jimmy asked. "Because from where I'm at, you look like hell."

Linda gave him a wry smile as she glanced over; her smile faded when she saw Jimmy holding his hand. "Your hand."

"It's nothing," Jimmy replied dismissively.

"Now who's lying?" Linda asked.

Jimmy was unamused. "Fine," he said, "I got zapped by a light surrounding you while you were in a trance, speaking what I assume to be Kryptonese, **after** you touched those rotating symbols, which happened **after** you put your key in the slot—which, by the way, you seemed to have forgotten to tell me you brought."

"Are you okay?" Linda asked softly, looking apologetic as she took his hand and examined it.

"I'm fine," Jimmy said, "but let's get something straight: if you wanna keep looking into this, then I'll help you—even if I think we should also tell Clark and your parents—so, you might want to start being honest with me."

"Okay," Linda replied.

"Now," Jimmy continued, "first question: why did you bring the key?"

"Because it's the only way to activate the cave," Linda said, "like a power switch."

"And the symbols?"

"Commands," Linda replied, "or questions; sequences to activate the cave."

"What did you press?" Jimmy asked.

"I asked 'What is Crusade?'" Linda answered before shrugging. "Thought I'd give it a shot."

"Well, that must have been the million dollar question," Jimmy replied as he looked toward the back wall, "because I think it gave you one hell of an answer." Linda glanced over Jimmy's shoulders, and her eyes widened when she saw an open space behind where the back wall had once been. The two glanced at each other before they stood up and carefully walked into the space, looking around.

The room was circular, about fifteen feet in diameter, with lines of Kryptonian symbols covering the walls; it honestly didn't look much different than the rest of the cave, but the striking difference was the circle of symbols—matching the ones on the walls—on the cave floor.

"'Li oferti ili aspekti cxe la cxielo kaj levi ilia al la stelo,'" Linda said, reading them.

Jimmy furrowed his eyebrows. "What did you say?" he asked.

"'He bid them look to the sky and lift their faces to the stars," Linda replied. She indicated the symbols on the walls. "It's the Kryptonian translation of the Latin phrase, the same message, repeated over and over again."

"You said that in your trance," Jimmy said, "when you had that light around you." He watched as Linda just stared at the walls of the small room. "Do you think it means anything, being on both the paper and in this room?"

Linda glanced around the small room. "Probably," she replied. "To be honest, I think whatever's going on here is only beginning."

(End of Chapter 11)


	12. Chapter 12

An hour later, Jimmy and Linda headed out of the Talon and headed down the sidewalk, carrying large Styrofoam cups of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles.

"How's your hand?" Linda asked as she looked at Jimmy, concerned.

"Hey, I don't think I got enough whipped cream," Jimmy said, peering at his cup.

"Jimmy," Linda replied, giving him a look, "you're avoiding the question."

"Hey, it's a legitimate concern," Jimmy continued. "After what we paid for these drinks," he took a cautious sip, smacking his lips appreciatively, "which taste really good, by the way, we should get a ton of whipped cream with it."

"Did you check your nose?" Linda asked wryly.

Jimmy furrowed his eyebrows, then he crossed his eyes as he glanced down; he had a big dollop of whipped cream on the tip of his nose. The photographer wiped the whipped cream off with the back of his sleeve, then glanced at Linda, who looked a little amused.

"I think you have enough," Linda replied before taking a sip, expertly avoiding getting her nose in the whipped cream topping her drink. "Now, about your hand…."

"I'm fine," Jimmy said quickly before he held up his hand and slowly flexed his fingers. "See? I'm fine."

"Uh huh," Linda replied, unconvinced. "Jimmy, you could have been killed."

"But I wasn't," Jimmy pointed out, sounding a little annoyed, "and my hand's getting better, so just drop it, okay?"

"Why are you being so stubborn?" Linda asked, furrowing her eyebrows. "I'm just worried about—"

"Jimmy? Linda?" The two teenagers looked over and saw Chloe approaching. She wore a non-traditionally-colored leather jacket, shaped and short, over a sweater and snug dark jeans, with contrasting boots and a scarf, looking a little confused. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, we're fine," Jimmy replied quickly; he ignored the brief glare Linda gave him. "So, uh, what are you doing here? I thought you and Lois were going to come out later tonight."

"Yeah, well," Chloe said slowly, shifting unfortunately, "something…came up."

"Like what?" Linda asked.

Chloe looked uncomfortable as she glanced to her side, then she furrowed her eyebrows. She looked around until her eyes landed on a teenage girl standing in front of the large Foreman's display window, staring at the Christmas decorations. She wore a hot pink wool coat that reached to mid thigh, a short skirt, patterned tights, and ankle boots with heels; her long blonde hair hung loosely under a matching wool hat.

"What is **she** doing here?" Jimmy asked, glaring at the girl.

"Now, Jimmy," Chloe said, carefully putting herself in front of Jimmy, "before you say anything, Lois and I had no idea she was coming."

"You know what she did," Jimmy replied.

"What's going on?" Linda asked, confused, as she stared at the girl. "Who is that?"

"Oh, that's right," Jimmy answered, his tone laced with bitterness, "you haven't been personally introduced. Linda, that girl over there is Lucy."

Linda's eyes widened in shock as she glanced over at the other girl. "That's Lucy?" she asked.

"Yeah, the one and only," Jimmy asked sarcastically.

"Jimmy, I'm sorry," Chloe replied, "but the General dropped her off unexpectedly this morning at my dad's place; Dad called me to let me know, and Lois and I felt it was best I come out first, just in case—"

"Just in case we bumped into each other?" Jimmy interrupted, trying to remain calm; he wasn't mad at Chloe, but he didn't want to stay there any longer. "Come on, Linda, let's go." Chloe and Jimmy glanced to the side, but Linda wasn't there; they looked around and spotted Linda crossing the street—making a beeline right for Lucy.

While part of Jimmy was sorely tempted to stay put and watch Linda unleash her anger on Lucy, he didn't want Linda to get in trouble or feel guilty later on. He also knew that no matter how much Lucy had hurt him, he couldn't fathom her getting injured or humiliated for any reason; he sighed.

"We gotta stop her," he said before making sure it was safe to cross the street.

"Jimmy, you really think Linda would hurt Lucy?" Chloe asked as she walked beside him.

"No, but she has on more than one occasion made it quite clear to me how she feels about your cousin," Jimmy replied, "and it's not exactly sunshine and lollipops." They saw Linda toss her cup in a nearby trashcan before approaching Lucy, who turned around.

"Well, that's understandable," Chloe said, "but she wouldn't act on those feelings any more than Clark would."

"Yeah, and Linda never thought she'd go ballistic on her biological father, either," Jimmy replied, "yet he ended up with a broken nose and two fractured jaws."

"Had to bring that up," Chloe muttered as she watched the teenagers exchange words, the expressions on both girls' faces clearly indicating the conversation was less than pleasant; it wasn't until Chloe and Jimmy reached the sidewalk—and Jimmy dropped his cup into the nearby trashcan—that they could finally hear what was being said.

"…deserves better than you," Linda said as she glared at Lucy.

"Well, it's clear that he decided to **downgrade** instead," Lucy replied, glaring right back. Linda narrowed her eyes and clenched her fists, but before she could say anything Chloe and Jimmy stepped between the girls, separating them.

"How about we go to our separate corners?" Chloe suggested gently as she kept her hand on Lucy's shoulder.

"How about you get this little bitch out of my face?" Lucy retorted as she narrowed her eyes at Linda.

"Luce, I love you," Chloe said as she looked at her cousin, her expression and tone deadly serious, "but if I **ever** hear you call **anyone** that name again, you and I are going to have a **long** talk."

"Yeah, and maybe I can rearrange your face beforehand?" Linda suggested as she stepped toward Lucy.

"Hey, hey," Jimmy said as he put his hands on her shoulders, stopping Linda from advancing. "It's not worth it, Linda." Linda met his gaze, and Jimmy said a small thank you to himself as he felt her relax a little.

"Same old Jimmy," Lucy replied snootily. "Never had the stomach for confrontations."

Jimmy turned around, glaring at his ex girlfriend. "Let's make one thing clear," he said. "I chose not to get in your face that day and spout off every insult in my vocabulary because you obviously didn't give a damn about me, and I didn't want to waste my breath." He grabbed Linda's hand. "Chloe, sorry about this, but I hope you and Lois and your dad have a good Thanksgiving. Linda, let's go." Wordlessly, he pulled Linda away, and the two walked quickly down the sidewalk away from Chloe and Lucy.

* * *

It was a little after midnight, and Jimmy lay on the couch, dressed in gray sweatpants and a navy blue t-shirt. He knew he should be asleep instead of staring up at the ceiling, and he shifted to readjust his pillow and blanket before laying back down and closing his eyes. After what seemed like an hour, with no hint of relaxing, the teenager knew he wasn't going to be sleeping any time soon; sighing, he carefully stood and padded softly into the kitchen, looking for something to drink. Midway to the refrigerator, he stopped short when he heard a soft sob coming from outside. Tilting his head, he quietly heading over to the door and carefully opened it, peering through the screen door.

Linda stood on the porch, leaning against the porch rail as she stared out into the darkness. She wore a pair of purple pajama pants with white polar bears all over it and a matching purple tank top; her hair hung loose, and Jimmy could tell she wasn't wearing her glasses. He caught the tear streaks on her cheeks—and he furrowed his eyebrows with concern as he opened the door.

"Linda, you okay?" he asked as he stepped out onto the porch, ignoring the biting cold.

Linda looked a little startled as she quickly turned away, wiping her cheeks. "I'm fine," she said, her voice wavering a little as she tried to sound calm.

"Yeah, why don't I believe that?" Jimmy asked soft and nonthreatening. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Linda replied casually, not facing him. She didn't hear anything, so she slowly glanced over and saw Jimmy giving her an 'I don't buy it' expression, and she sighed. "Why don't you believe me? I said I'm fine."

"And I said I don't believe that," Jimmy repeated. "Now, what's going on?"

Linda stared at him for a few moments. "I almost hurt Lucy," she finally said.

"But you didn't," Jimmy replied.

"But I wanted to," Linda said. "When I saw her standing there, I just kept thinking about how much she hurt you, and how easily I could hurt her in return."

"Yeah, and people have been wanting to hurt other people long before you came to Earth," Jimmy replied, "including me; it's natural."

"Yeah, but if **you** lose your temper," Linda replied, " **you** don't have to worry about punching through someone's body." She shrugged slightly, wiping a fresh tear from her cheek as she hung her head. "Maybe I'm more like my father than I let on."

"No, you're not," Jimmy said emphatically as he gently took her shoulders and turned her to him. "Linda, look at me." Linda slowly looked up at him. "You are **nothing** like your father. Everyone— **everyone** —has wanted to hurt someone in their life, even Clark; I've seen him wanting to wail on several people, but he chose not to."

"Clark has never snapped before," Linda replied sadly. "I never told this to anyone, but when I fought my father and I could feel his bones breaking as I hit him," she looked ashamed, "I didn't want to stop until he was dead." She looked at Jimmy with a sad confusion in her eyes. "What does that make me?"

"Normal," Jimmy simply replied. Linda shook her head, unconvinced, and Jimmy sighed. "Linda, you wanna know how I know you're not like your father?"

"How?" Linda asked.

"Because you stopped," Jimmy replied. "When you stepped toward Lucy, and I told you it wasn't worth it, you could have just continued and there would have been nothing Chloe or I could have done to stop you—but you stopped. Your father wouldn't have done that." He saw the look of relief wash over Linda's eyes, even as she appeared ready to break down, and he took a deep breath before pulling her toward him and wrapping his arms around her; he was thankful she returned the gesture as she leaned against him.

"Thank you," Linda said softly, her head resting against his shoulder.

"No problem," Jimmy replied. The two just stayed there for some time before they pulled away. The photographer was relieved to see Linda looked a little more relaxed; he decided to change the subject. "Hey, uh, remember when you were asking about Winslow Schott?"

"Yeah," Linda said slowly, "but Cutter and Wally already told me about him," she smiled, "and I saw your picture of the giant spider robot; it was really good, by the way."

Jimmy felt his cheeks grow hot. "It wasn't anything special," he replied as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"Why are you asking about Schott?" Linda asked.

"Well, he hasn't killed anyone since Sunday," Jimmy replied.

"That's a good thing, right?" Linda said, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Well, yeah," Jimmy answered, "but that means he's been off the radar—and no one's saying it, but they're worried Schott might be planning something big. No one's been able to find him—the police, the S.C.U., or Clark." He shrugged slightly. "Maybe you and I would have better luck—after Thanksgiving, of course."

"So, you're suggesting that you and I go around Metropolis looking for a psycho who uses toys as deadly weapons when no one else has been able to locate him?" Linda asked.

"Yeah," Jimmy replied. "It'll be a nice distraction from all the crazy stuff from the past few days—after Thanksgiving, of course."

"Well, I could definitely use a break from Smallville right now," Linda admitted, "but I seriously doubt I'd be allowed to go to Metropolis to look for Schott; Clark and my parents weren't exactly thrilled when I simply asked who he was, remember?"

"Yeah, well, maybe I could kinda suggest giving you a tour around Metropolis," Jimmy said. "If we happen to stumble upon Schott in the process…well, we certainly can't be blamed for that, right?"

"You think they're really going to fall for that?" Linda asked, amused.

Jimmy shrugged. "I don't see why they'd suspect anything," he answered. "Things **have** been a little crazy, and it's been months since you threw that guy through the store window."

Linda blushed a little. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?" she asked.

Jimmy smiled. "Probably not," he replied.

Linda smiled as she shook her head. "Look," she said, "if you can convince them to let me go to Metropolis, I will definitely come."

"Great," Jimmy replied as he shifted on his feet, rubbing his arms with his hands.

Linda's eyes widened as she realized why Jimmy was doing that. "Oh, my gosh, Jimmy," she said, "why didn't you say anything?"

"Because we were having such a nice conversation," Jimmy replied, his teeth chattering. "Didn't want to ruin it."

"You're an idiot," Linda replied before she firmly grabbed his elbow and all but pulled him inside the house, shutting the doors behind them.

(End of Chapter 12)


	13. Chapter 13

_Author's note: Since I'll be using the basis of "The Flash" t.v. show in my show-with some modifications-the time of the particle accelerator explosion that took place in December, 2013, in the show's timeline, will have taken place in December, 2011, in my series' timeline and explain the modifications as needed._

* * *

The sun shone brightly Friday morning as Clark walked into his bedroom, straightening his tie; he stopped just inside the room, as a smile slowly spread on his face. Linda lay sprawled out, tangled in the bed sheets as she hugged a pillow close to her body; she snored slightly, her mouth opened. Clark leaned against the doorframe, watching her for a few moments, letting his thoughts drift back to the previous day.

 _The kitchen table looked as if it had been decorated for a magazine: a wooden box—filled with five thick and thin candles nestled in a cornucopia of pine cones, a variety of miniature squashes and pumpkins, and simple greenery—served as the centerpiece; it rested on a red table runner centered down the center. Each place setting—five in total—were each decorated with a red folded napkin resting on a fine china plate; each plate sat on top of square golden-orange woven placemat, with spoons, forks, and knives properly set around them._

 _The rest of the space on the table was dedicated to the variety of dishes: freshly cooked green beans seasoned with a hint of salt and pepper, a plate of bright yellow cobs of steamed corn, mashed potatoes loaded with butter, sweet potatoes caramelized with brown sugar, homemade yeast rolls, fresh cranberry sauce, and a large turkey, cooked to golden-brown perfection; a pumpkin and pecan pie sat on the cooling rack, fresh from the oven. Jonathan, Martha, Clark, Linda, and Jimmy—dressed in semi-formal attire—gathered around the table, and all but Jonathan sat down._

 _"Before we eat," Jonathan said to the others as he stood at the head of the table, "I think we should take this opportunity to inform Linda and Jimmy about the Kent Thanksgiving Day tradition."_

 _"We're not going to have to stand up and recite the Mayflower Compact or something, right?" Linda asked warily._

 _Jonathan chuckled. "No, sweetie," he said. "We go around the table, and each person gets to say what they're most thankful for; it's a tradition your mother and I started on our first Thanksgiving after getting married." He looked down at his wife. "Martha?"_

 _"Well, there's a lot to be thankful for," Martha admitted, "but the I'm thankful to be looking around this table and seeing the faces of the people I care about happy and healthy." She looked across the table at her son. "Clark?"_

 _"Well, I don't think this is going to be a big shock," Clark said, "but I have to say I'm thankful for Linda." He looked over at his cousin, smiling. "I've lived all my life thinking I was the last survivor of Krypton, and then you arrived—and I can't say I've ever been happier to be proven wrong." Linda smiled back, her eyes bright._

 _"Linda?" Jonathan asked. "You want to go next?"_

 _Linda nodded. "Well, there's so much to be grateful for," she said slowly, "but if I have to narrow it down to one thing," she pursed her lips, thinking for a moment, "I have to say I'm most thankful to have found people who actually love me." She turned to Jimmy. "Jimmy?"_

 _Jimmy looked a little surprised. "Me?" he asked._

 _"Oh, course, Jimmy," Martha replied, smiling. "You're family."_

 _Jimmy's eyes flickered briefly, and he cleared his throat as he took a sip from his glass, adverting his gaze. "Well, uh," he said slowly after putting his glass down, "I, uh, guess I'm most thankful for, uh," he made a gesture with his hand, "for…this." He cautiously glanced at Linda and saw her smiling at him; he slowly returned the smile._

 _"And what I'm most thankful for," Jonathan concluded, "is for the people I see sitting around this table. Any man would be blessed to be surrounded by a loving wife, a son_ _ **and**_ _a daughter he can be proud of, and a young man who is as much a part of this family as everyone else here. And now," he reached for the carving knife and fork next to the turkey tray, "let's eat." He expertly began carving the turkey as the others passed around the rest of the food._

Clark smiled and took a deep breath as he slowly walked over to the bed. He carefully sat down, watching his cousin sleeping peacefully; he smoothed a strand of hair from her face, and Linda yawned before smacking her lips a few times.

"Linda?" Clark whispered softly as he put his hand on her arm and gently shook her.

"Mmmm," Linda said softly in her sleep.

"It's time to get up," Clark continued. Linda's smiled faded, and she whined a little as she turned around, burrowing under the pillow.

Clark chuckled softly. "Come on, Short Stack," he said, "we have a busy day—and I have to get to work."

"No," came the muffled reply.

"Fine," Clark said casually, "I'll be sure to tell Jimmy you snubbed him so you could sleep in."

Linda whined loudly and then sighed loudly before removing the pillow and sitting up; her hair was mussed up, and she looked annoyed. "You're evil, you know that."

Clark grinned before kissing her forehead. "As always," he replied. "You wanna get a shower before we leave? You've got five minutes."

"Fine," Linda said grumpily as she extracted herself from the covers and stood up; she stretched and yawned before superspeeding into the bathroom. Clark heard the water running for a few seconds before it stopped; Linda blurred back out, briefly grabbing her glasses from the nightstand before stopping near the bedroom door. She wore jeans, a long-sleeved purple turtleneck, and black flats; her freshly washed hair was pulled back into a loose braid.

"Let's go," Linda replied as she put her glasses on, looking visibly more alert and less grouchy.

Clark simply smiled as he got to his feet and walked over to his dresser, grabbing her winter parka and gloves, tossing them to her. "Don't forget these." Linda put them on as Clark retrieved his trench coat, and gloves, shrugging into them. "Ready?"

"Ready," Linda replied before she followed her cousin to the sliding balcony door. Clark opened it, and the two stepped onto the balcony; the reporter closed the door behind him before scooping Linda into his arms. In the blink of an eye, the two were airborne, heading high into the Metropolis sky.

* * *

"Well, look who finally decided to show up," Chloe smiled, walking over from the water cooler as Clark and Linda got off the elevator.

"Good morning, Chloe," Clark replied, smiling.

"Hey, Chloe," Linda added, trying not to look nervous as she waved briefly.

"Hey, kiddo," Chloe replied. "So, how was Thanksgiving this year at the Kent Farm?"

"Wonderful, as usual," Clark answered, "and for the first time in twenty years we had no leftovers to put up."

"Not my fault Mom makes good food," Linda replied, smiling as she folded her arms.

Clark shook his head, smiling. "So, how was **your** Thanksgiving, Chlo?"

"Well, considering the General had a last-minute meeting and unexpectedly dropped Lucy off without so much as a phone call," Chloe answered, "it was pretty tense."

"Oooh," Clark replied, wincing. "So, is she still in Smallville?"

"No, the General picked her up last night," Chloe said, "but it was definitely one of our more quieter meals." She noticed Linda shuffling slightly as she looked at her feet, but Clark seemed oblivious to his cousin's behavior. "Oh, before I forget, Perry said he wanted you in his office as soon as you arrived."

"What about Linda?" Clark asked, eyeing his baby cousin.

"I'll keep her out of trouble," Chloe replied smiling.

"Okay," Clark said before glancing down at Linda, smiling. "Behave." He headed toward Perry's office.

"Look, I'm really sorry about Lucy," Linda said to Chloe as they made their way through the bullpen.

"Trust me," Chloe replied, "you have nothing to apologize for—and just FYI, Lois knows, because it was one of the few times Lucy actually spoke to Lois, but I was able to convince Lois to keep the secret as well."

"Really?" Linda asked.

"Yep," Chloe answered as they reached Clark's desk. "So, here's Clark's desk." Linda sat in her cousin's chair, leaning back and rocking gently.

"Sullivan!"

Linda stopped rocking and glanced up at Chloe, who winced slightly. "Is that Mr. White?" she asked as she eyed the office.

"Yeah," Chloe replied, "I'll be right back." She hurried to the editor's office, leaving Linda alone; the teenager sighed and leaned back, rocking slowly as she closed her eyes.

"Hey, you."

Linda smiled as she opened her eyes and glanced up. Jimmy stood beside her, holding a small stack of photos in his hands. "Hey, yourself," she replied. "How's it going?"

"Not bad," Jimmy answered as he put the photos on Clark's desk and pulled up a nearby chair; he sat down beside her. "So, what do you think of the Planet?"

"Nice," Linda replied, glancing around at the people hurrying back and forth, "but it's very…busy. I don't understand how you can stay focused with all this stuff going on."

"I like it," Jimmy said, shrugging. "It's crazy sometimes, but that comes with the territory."

Linda shook her head. "Give me a quiet art studio any day," she replied, smiling as she sat up straighter. "So, when do you want to get started?"

"Well, last night I went over everything concerning Schott," Jimmy said, "old case files, photos, anything I could find."

"And?"

"At first, nothing," Jimmy answered, "but when I looked at the murders themselves, I noticed Lex was mentioned on one of the reports."

"Did Schott go after Lex again?" Linda asked.

"No, Inspector Henderson was asking him questions on whether Lex knew more about the murders than he let on," Jimmy answered.

"Okay, I'm confused," Linda said slowly. "If Schott is killing those people and tried to kill Lex last year, why would the police think Lex is involved?"

"Because Lex is keen on increasing his hold in Metropolis," Jimmy replied. "Wouldn't hurt to have as many politicians in his pockets as possible."

"Doesn't he already own a majority of Metropolis?" Linda asked.

"It's Lex," Jimmy replied, his voice laced with annoyance. "He won't be happy until he owns the **world**."

"Well, he has quite a few people standing in his way to keep that from happening," Linda said, smiling. "So, you think Lex might be connected to this?"

"Or maybe Schott is trying a different way to get his revenge on Lex," Jimmy replied. Linda raised an eyebrow, looking confused, and Jimmy had to hide a smile—she was really cute when confused. "Okay, think about this: Metropolis is made up of six boroughs, with New Troy being the largest. Now, while most of the boroughs are made of a couple districts, New Troy has four districts: Downtown, Midtown, Suicide Slums, and the Central Business district. The two politicians murdered were each representatives of two of the four districts—Downtown and Midtown—leaving only two districts up for grabs."

"I hope the other two are being cautious," Linda said, concerned.

"Yeah, don't worry, Metro PD's got them on twenty-four hour watch for the time being," Jimmy replied.

"But they ruled out Lex as a suspect?" Linda asked

"Yep," Jimmy answered.

"So, we're back to nothing," Linda said glumly.

"Not necessarily," Jimmy replied. "Lex reported a shipment of Grade 5 titanium alloy stolen from one of his factories about a week before the killings started; it made a brief blurb on the evening news and in the paper, but that's it."

"So?" Linda asked.

"The main component of Schott's toys was titanium alloy," Jimmy explained. "Lightweight, resilient to corrosion and high temperatures, and very durable—but not strong enough to keep Superman from pummeling them," he raised an eyebrow, amused, as he dropped his voice, "or maybe a certain other someone."

"You think Schott arranged to have it stolen to make more weapons," Linda said.

Jimmy nodded. "Now, police haven't been able to track it down, but I think I might have a way." Jimmy scooted up to Clark's desk and began typing on the keyboard.

"How?" Linda asked.

"S.T.A.R. Labs has a satellite in orbit that has multi-functioning capabilities," Jimmy said, keeping his eyes on the monitor as he continued typing. "Clark and Lois did a story on it a couple of years ago. If I can gain access to its system, I might be able to configure it to look for large concentrations of titanium."

"Something tells me this isn't exactly legal," Linda replied, "and when did you learn to do this?"

"It's not," Jimmy agreed, "and during my less-than-enjoyable early teens." He glanced over and saw Linda's skeptical expression; he smiled. "Look, I know what I'm doing: I'm rerouting the signal through different servers first before accessing the central branch system here in Metropolis; that should give me enough time to do what I need to do."

"You think you'll be able to do what you need to do before the signal gets traced back here?" Linda asked.

"Yep," Jimmy replied. "To be honest, I'd feel better hacking the Central City system instead—close by but more time to work—but it's been closed since its particle accelerator exploded a couple years ago; doubt the systems would be functioning at the level I need to access the satellite." A S.T.A.R. Labs logo appeared on the screen, with a whole bunch of file folders. "Okay, we got five minutes before they track the signal."

Linda watched, fascinated, as Jimmy's fingers flew across the keyboard, typing different commands. After a few minutes, a large map of downtown Metropolis appeared on the screen, with a large red dot flashing in the center; Jimmy grinned. "Bingo."

"Where is that?" Linda asked.

"Satellite picked up a higher-than-normal concentration of Grade 5 titanium alloy in Suicide Slums," Jimmy replied. "Two three seven Baker Street; that's an abandoned warehouse near my apartment." He glanced over and saw Clark, Chloe, and Perry exiting the editor's office and heading over; he quickly shut down the computer before they approached.

"What are you two up to?" Clark asked, slightly suspicious.

"Jimmy's just deciding which stores to include in my tour," Linda replied as the teenagers got to their feet.

"You sure you want to go around Metropolis during Black Friday?" Chloe asked. "Might be easier navigating a landmine field blindfolded."

"That's why I'm bringing Linda as my bodyguard," Jimmy joked as he grabbed Linda's hand. "We'll be back around lunch; promise." He pulled Linda away from the adults, leading her over to the elevators.

"So, are they dating or not?" Perry asked.

"It's…complicated," Clark answered.

"Mmm," Perry replied, then he glanced at his reporters, annoyed. "And why are two just standing around? I'm not paying you to be statues. Get to work." Clark and Chloe all but hurried away, leaving the editor smiling to himself as he headed back to his office.

(End of Chapter 13)


	14. Chapter 14

Linda came to a full stop behind a large pile of wooden boxes next to a decrepit-looking warehouse, holding Jimmy in her arms, her braid half undone; she put the photographer on the ground down and began messing with her hair, trying to fix it.

"You want your glasses back?" Jimmy asked as he reached into his jacket pocket, holding them out to her, waiting.

"No," Linda said after a few moments, pulling the rubber band from her hair, letting it hang loose as she stuffed the rubber band in her pocket; Jimmy put her glasses back in his pocket. The two peeked stayed behind the boxes, looking up at the warehouse.

"So, how do you want to do this?" Linda asked.

"Can you give the place a quick buzz?" Jimmy asked; he glanced over and saw Linda looking at him, confused; he smiled slightly and tapped a finger near his eye. "I mean, x-ray the place."

Linda smirked. "Do you have a sound effect for every one of my powers?"

"No," Jimmy replied, blushing as he looked away.

Linda smiled a little as she turned and faced the building. Jimmy watched as she stared intently at the building. A few seconds passed before she growled softly.

"What?" Jimmy asked.

"It's lined with lead," Linda replied. "I can't see in."

"Probably figured Clark would be looking for him and took precautions," Jimmy said as he glanced around and saw a security camera placed high above an entrance door, slowly sweeping back and forth, "and he also has a camera."

Linda smiled. "That I can fix," she replied as she stared at the camera and focused. Her eyes briefly flashed a deep orange before two thin heat beams shot from her eyes. They struck the camera and sparks flew out before it partially melted to slag; smiling, she turned to Jimmy. "We're clear to go."

Jimmy slowly grinned. "You are awesome," he replied as he took her hand, and the two headed toward the door; Jimmy tried the doorknob, but it wouldn't budge. "Locked."

"Not a problem for me," Linda replied, reaching for the handle.

"Not one for me either," Jimmy retorted as he stopped her before reaching into his other jacket pocket; he pulled out a small case, smiling. "Not every door has to be torn off." Linda raised an eyebrow as she watched him pull a few tools from the case before handing it to her. The photographer inserted the tools into the keyhole and expertly maneuvered them. After a few moments, he tried the knob again—it easily turned, and Jimmy pulled the door open before grinning at Linda; he put the tools back in the case and then slipped the case back in his jacket pocket. "I rest my case."

"So, let's review your talents," Linda said quietly after they carefully walked into the darkened warehouse, maneuvering around piles of boxes and crates. "You can hotwire a truck, hack computer systems, and pick locks."

"Next time I'll show you how to build a nuclear bomb out of paper clips and chewing gum," Jimmy replied. Linda gave him a weird look, and Jimmy chuckled. "Forget it."

The two teens walked into a clearing and stopped short, their eyes adjusting to the dim light. They spotted a workbench nearby, a single lamp shining brightly on the few small toys on it, machinery parts scattered everywhere; the two cautiously made their way over.

"I think it's safe to say your search paid off," Linda replied, slightly stunned.

Jimmy whistled softly. "I'll say," he said as he glanced around, squinting, trying to see into the shadows, "but where's Schott?"

Before Linda could answer, two large metal claws clamped tightly around the teens' necks; the two were quickly hoisted over ten feet into the air just as the overhead lights came on. They looked down and saw the clamps were actually hands attached to the arms of a nine foot metallic robot with glowing red eyes; standing beside it was Winslow Schott.

"Right here, kiddies," he said, smirking up at the struggling teens as he walked closer. "Mr. Olsen, it's been a long time."

"Not long enough," Jimmy wheezed, his face red.

"And who's your friend?" Schott asked, glancing at Linda. "She's cute—almost like a life-size Barbie doll," he smirked, "only not quite so endowed."

"Up yours, you psycho creep," Linda muttered.

"Sticks and stones may break some bones," Schott said in a singsong voice, "but Hal tears you to pieces." He smiled and gave a little wave before strolling casually away. "Hal, kill them—with extreme prejudice."

The robot's hands squeezed tighter around their necks; Jimmy's face turned a deep red as he struggled to breathe. Linda tried prying the robot's fingers from her neck, but she couldn't get a good grip; she quickly focused her telekinesis—and Hal's hands immediately flew open, dropping the two teens to the floor. Jimmy landed on his feet and stumbled, falling backward onto the hard concrete; Linda managed to land on her feet, crouching low.

"Jimmy, take cover," Linda said, her tone low and serious as she kept her eyes on the giant robot towering over them. Jimmy opened his mouth to protest, but quickly decided against it before scrambling to his feet and hurrying away; he took cover behind some nearby crates.

Linda narrowed her eyes as the robot raised its clenched fists, slamming them down. The teenager blurred away at the last second, and Hal's hands hit the floor, concrete cracking on impact; Linda stopped behind the robot.

"Over here, tin man," she shouted confidently.

The robot quickly turned and swung a fist down at her, but Linda easily caught it with both of her hands. Keeping a tight grip, she swung the robot around and let go; Hal sailed through the air and slammed into a wall fifty feet away, smashing into hundreds of pieces before falling to the floor.

Linda smiled, folding her arms, but she barely had time to savor her victory as she heard a deep rumbling sound; she turned to see two headlights shining from the shadows. The young girl furrowed her eyebrows when she saw a large, blue and green remote controlled monster truck slowly roll toward her, stopping twenty feet away.

"Okay," Linda said slowly, confused. The truck's hubcaps suddenly shot out, spinning like little silver Frisbees around the room, circling around before zooming toward her.

Jimmy watched from his hiding place as Linda easily knocked them away before they hit her, sending them in different directions; the hubcaps whizzed around with such force that they embedded themselves in different objects as they hit them—including the crate Jimmy peered over. The photographer stared at the silver object with wide eyes for several seconds before he cautiously reached out and ran his finger carefully along the edge, noting how razor sharp it felt. He glanced over at Linda, and their eyes met briefly, and Jimmy couldn't help but stare in awe as he watched her in action.

The sound of clicks and whirs caught their attention, and the teens looked over to see ten robotic ants the size of a Great Dane emerged from the shadows and quickly converged on the young girl, surrounding her.

"Really?" Linda asked, sound a little annoyed. A moment later, the ants simultaneously jumped at her, their metallic pinchers glistening in the light as they knocked her to the ground, piling up on her. Suddenly the ants flew in all directions, smashing into walls and other objects, breaking on impact. Linda got to her feet, her jacket completely shredded and her pants slashed, her hair mussed; she quickly removed the remains of her jacket, tossing them to the side, glaring.

A loud buzzing sound overhead caused her to look up and she saw a Volkswagen-sized robotic bee hovering overhead. She barely had time to register its arrival before it fired a harpoon-like stinger the size of a sabre at her; she deftly caught it with one hand before snapping it in half, tossing the pieces to the ground as she glared up the bee, focusing. Her eyes flashed deep orange, and intense heat beams shot from her eyes, striking the robot; it exploded, sending smoldering pieces in all directions as the main body of the machine fell to the floor in a charred, smoking heap.

"Is that all you got, Toyman?" she shouted in a mocking tone, smirking as she looked around for Schott. Suddenly, a sharp pain resonated through her head as a white flash of light simultaneously blinded her. The teenager shouted in pain as she grabbed the sides of her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

* * *

 _Linda opened her eyes and looked around in shock. She stood in the middle of a large circular room, but it wasn't Schott's warehouse. The walls and floor appeared to be made out of opaque silver-blue glass, and Linda looked up; the ceiling, at least thirty feet off the ground, appeared to be missing, but then the young girl noticed the glare from the red sun and realized the ceiling was made of a glass. The glass began splintering, and the floors and walls were developing large cracks; sections were crumbling, and Linda realized in that moment that everything was shaking._

 _A commotion caught her attention, and Linda looked down to see two figures fighting nearby. She couldn't see their faces, but she could tell by their builds that they were both adult men. The first held a large dagger—with a crystalline handle and silver blade with Kryptonian symbols Linda couldn't make out—in his hand; he appeared to be using it to defend himself against the second. Linda watched in horror as the second man suddenly maneuvered, swiftly grabbing the dagger from the first man and plunging it into the first man's abdomen. As the first man screamed in pain, a white light engulfed Linda and her head exploded._

* * *

Linda opened her eyes wide, gasping, as she quickly looked around in confusion. She was back in the warehouse in Metropolis, staring at a life-size replica of a green nutcracker with a musket. As it lifted the musket and aimed it at her, Linda raised an eyebrow, giving a slightly amused smile as she put her hands on her hips, setting her feet.

"Do you honestly think—"

The sound of the musket wasn't as loud as Linda had anticipated, but she ignored it when she saw the single bullet spiraling toward her in slow motion. She glanced over at Jimmy, and he appeared frozen in time, watching her with an expression of extreme worry; she grinned at how cute he looked before looking back at the bullet, now less than a foot away; her eyes widened in horror when she noticed the sickly green glow of the projectile. She quickly leapt to the side, but she wasn't fast enough, and the bullet pierced her right shoulder, embedding itself deep in her tissue; her shoulder exploded with agony, and she hit the hard concrete.

Linda rolled onto her back, writhing, clutching her shoulder, feeling her blood; this was far worse than the last time she'd been exposed to kryptonite. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, the bullet's toxic radiation spreading through her body. She stared up at Schott as he approached from the shadows and stood over her, a maniacal look in his eyes; her vision started blurring, and she felt like she was going to throw up. _Jimmy, help me_ , she pleaded in her head.

"Well, this certainly answers a couple of questions," Schott said, kneeling beside the girl, still smiling cruelly.

"What are you talking about?" Linda asked, breathing hard, beads of sweat formed on her brow.

"Who **you** are," Schott said. "You see, I had intended that bullet to be used against Superman, but when I saw all the things you did to my lovely little inventions—which was very naughty, by the way—well, I asked myself if you shared Superman's weakness as well as his abilities," his smile widened, "and there was only one way to test that theory." He giggled excitably.

"You shot me," Linda moaned softly. "You've proven nothing."

"I've read what kryptonite does to Superman," Schott said, his eyes dancing maniacally. "A human can be injured by regular and kryptonite bullets—and it hurts—but to a Kryptonian, being shot with a kryptonite bullet is one of the worst pains imaginable. The poison spreads fast, making your blood feels like it's boiling, doesn't it?"

"You're sick, you know that?" Linda said softly, her voice shaking.

"Perhaps, but I'm also right," Schott replied before he smoothed some hair from Linda's face; the teenager flinched under his touch, disgusted. "I'm willing to bet Superman's been hiding you for quite some time, hasn't he?"

"I'm not…Kryptonian," Linda replied, wincing as her shoulder throbbed. "I have…no idea…what you're…talking about."

"Now, now," Schott said in a sickly sweet tone, "it's not good to lie to people; makes a bad first impression—and Lex really hates dishonest people."

"Lex?" Linda asked weakly, slightly panicked as she fought to stay conscious.

"Lex Luthor," Schott answered. "We have a small agreement: I kill some people for him, and he provides me the kryptonite I need to take care of Superman. Now, despite your impressive abilities, you are not my intended target; it's nothing personal."

"So, what are you going to do with me?" Linda asked softly, her vision growing dim.

"Hand you over to Lex, of course," Schott answered. "He's always experimenting on different and unusual things, and I'm sure he'll have more use for the infamous Girl of Metropolis than I will." Linda stared at him with a look of horror as he smiled cruelly down at her.

A sickening crack of metal against bone suddenly echoed through the warehouse, and Schott instantly grunted and his smile faded; his eyes rolled up, and he crumpled to the floor beside Linda, unconscious; Linda blinked blankly at him for a few seconds before she slowly craned her neck upward. Jimmy stood nearby, breathing hard and clutching a metal bat so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"The hell he will," he growled, glaring at the unconscious villain.

"Jimmy," Linda whimpered softly, and Jimmy looked down at her. His stomach turned to ice when he saw the blood oozing slowly between her fingers. Time suddenly felt as if it were crawling as he dropped the bat; it clanged against the floor as he hurried over to Linda, kneeling beside her.

"It…hurts," Linda whimpered softly, tears filling her eyes.

"I-i-it's okay, Linda," Jimmy whispered, his voice and hands shaking as he tried to stay focused; he felt as if everything gently removed her hand to get a look at the wound. Blood—her blood—soaked through her shirt, and he saw the slight green glow of the bullet still deep in her shoulder as the edges started turning black.

 _Get her out of here, Jimmy_.

Jimmy jerked his head up and looked around, tensing as he quickly reached for the bat. The voice had been so soft that the teen wasn't sure he'd actually heard it. He scanned the shadows, looking and hearing for anything. After a few seconds, he slowly put the bat down next to his feet. "Alright, Linda, I'm gonna get you out of here." When Linda didn't respond, Jimmy glanced down; her eyes were closed. "Linda?"

When she didn't respond, Jimmy quickly scrambled into a kneeling position. He took a deep breath and braced himself, mustering all his strength and slowly lifted her in his arms; his muscles strained as he slowly got to his feet. He held her securely in his arms and carried her out of the warehouse; he was so focused on getting Linda to safety that he missed the figure standing in the shadows, watching the teenager leave with his precious cargo.

Once the coast was clear, the figure left his spot and walked into the light. He was tall, well-built, with a long facial structure and sharp eyes. He wordlessly approached the unconscious body of the toy man and smirked briefly before pulling a white cloth and small brown bottle from his trench coat pocket. He poured some liquid on the cloth before wiping up the small drops of blood on the floor where Linda had lain; he then took the bat and carefully held it as he wiped the area where Jimmy had held it. Wordlessly, he put the bat back where he had found it before putting the bottle and soiled cloth back in his pocket; he got to his feet, picked up the remains of Linda's jacket nearby, and calmly walked back into the shadows.

* * *

Jimmy kicked the door open, huffing loudly as he carried Linda's limp body out of the warehouse. His body quivered as he made as far as the pile of crates they had earlier hid behind before his legs finally gave out; he collapsed to his knees, breathing loudly, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked down at Linda and noticed how ashen her face looked, how lifeless she appeared. The photographer smoothed some hair from her face, knowing there was only one thing to do as he craned his head skyward.

"SUPERMAN!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

(End of Chapter 14)


	15. Chapter 15

The door to Jimmy's bedroom flew open, and Superman walked in, carrying his unconscious cousin in his arms; he appeared to be straining with every step, fighting the effects of the radiation as he managed to cross the small room to Jimmy's bed and carefully sett the young girl on the rumpled covers. He panted hard as he backed away, turning to see Jimmy standing in the doorway, pale and shaking as he stared at Linda in silence. Superman couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his friend looking so lost and scared, but the hero knew he couldn't dwell on that.

"Jimmy," Superman said as he approached the teenager. Jimmy stared blankly at his bed, and Superman gently grabbed his shoulders. "Jimmy, look at me." Jimmy slowly looked up at the hero. "I need you to focus."

"It's my fault," Jimmy said softly, his voice laced with fear. "My fault."

"We can't worry about that right now," Superman said calmly. "You need to focus—for Linda. Can you do that?" Jimmy hesitated, but then he slowly nodded. "Alright, I need you to get a pair of scissors and get her shirt off while I get a knife." He ignored the panicked expression crossing Jimmy's eyes. "Do you have a pair of needle-nosed pliers?"

"Uh…yeah," Jimmy said, racking his brain; it was almost like he suddenly forget where everything was in the apartment. "I, uh, kitchen drawer—near the knives."

"Alright, get the scissors," Superman said before brushing past Jimmy, heading for the kitchen.

Jimmy glanced at Linda one more time before he took a deep breath and headed over to his desk. He pulled open the middle drawer and grabbed the pair of scissors near the front, before slamming it shut and hurrying over to the bed; he knelt beside Linda and stared at the blood soaked fabric. Hands shaking, he pushed all thoughts of modesty aside, using the scissors to gently cut the bottom of Linda' shirt, moving up to her collar; he put the scissors on his nightstand and gently pulled the shirt away, carefully removing the shredded fabric; he saw that Linda wore a white, lacy bralet with thin straps, allowing him to clearly see her wound while offering her a little modesty.

Jimmy had seen plenty of injuries in his life—more than he cared to admit—so he was surprised to see how 'normal' Linda's shoulder appeared; the only difference was the sight of veins of green poison radiating away from entrance. The photographer furrowed his eyebrows as he leaned over slightly, peering at the wound; his stomach tightened when he saw the wound was already starting to heal around the bullet—and he realized Linda had stopped breathing.

"Clark, hurry!" Jimmy shouted over his shoulder. "She's not breathing!"

"Jimmy, here!"

Jimmy looked behind him and saw Superman standing in the doorway, staring intently at a pair of pliers and a steak knife in his hands; the blades glowed brightly for a moment, and the photographer knew exactly what the hero was doing.

"You gotta hurry, Clark," Jimmy said as he got up and hurried over, "the wound's closing up; you gotta get it out."

"Jimmy, you know I can't be anywhere near her right now," Superman replied before he carefully handed the tools to his friend. "You're going to have to do this."

Jimmy stared at Superman in shock. "No," he said, shaking his head, scared. "I-I-I can't. I can't do it."

"You have to," Superman replied seriously.

"But I don't—"

"Jimmy, if you don't get that bullet out of her now," Superman interrupted, "she will die." He gently put his hands on Jimmy's shoulders. "You can do this; I have faith in you."

Jimmy wanted to protest, but glanced back at Linda, swallowing hard. He looked back at Superman, who nodded encouragingly; the photographer simply nodded in return before hurrying back over to the bed, kneeling on the sheets beside Linda. He set the pliers aside and positioned the knife in his right hand, his hand shaking. He glanced at Linda briefly, before he put the tip of the knife near her wound; he took a few breaths, gathering his courage, before carefully sticking the sharp end into her skin.

As the blade pierced deep into the wound, easily cutting her flesh, Jimmy was thankful Linda was unconscious, knowing how much pain she'd be in if she were awake. After a few seconds that seemed more like an eternity, he felt the blade hit something hard and small, and Jimmy knew he had found the bullet. He quickly removed the knife, ignoring the blood on the blade as he set it down and grabbed the pliers. He inserted the tips into the open wound, working the blades down and around the bullet until he managed to get a secure hold. He carefully pulled it out and briefly stared at it in disgust before jumping to his feet and hurrying to his bathroom; he dropped the bullet in the toilet and quickly flushed it before tossing the bloodied pliers into the sink.

Jimmy grabbed a nearby towel before hurrying back into his room; he stopped short when he saw Superman sitting next to Linda, staring down at her with concern. The photographer swallowed before slowly approaching, and he was a little surprised to see the wound had already healed itself; the green veins had disappeared, and her skin was already a pale pink color.

"Is she breathing?" Jimmy whispered loudly.

"Yeah," Superman replied softly, watching Linda's chest rise and fall slowly, before he brushed some hair from her face, gently tucking the strands behind her ear.

"Clark?" Superman looked over, and Jimmy held out the towel. The hero took it and gently dotted Linda's wound, cleaning the blood from her skin; he noticed some of her blood stained her top, but didn't say anything as he handed the towel back to the photographer, who tossed it into the pile of dirty clothes in the far corner of his room. Jimmy grabbed the navy blue blanket draped on his dresser and handed it to Superman, who carefully covered his cousin with it.

"What happened?" Superman asked after a few moments.

Jimmy recognized the calm anger the hero's voice, and he knew better than to argue; he sighed. "Winslow Schott," he replied in a defeated voice.

Superman looked over, a mixture of shock and disbelief. "You two went after Schott?" he asked as he got to his feet.

"Look, Clark, this wasn't supposed to happen," Jimmy said. "I thought it'd be a good distraction for Linda; I didn't think he'd actually be at that warehouse…and I didn't know he had kryptonite."

"Where did he get the kryptonite?" Superman asked.

"He said Lex gave it to him," Jimmy explained, "in exchange for killing those people." He saw Superman closing his eyes in frustration, and Jimmy knew he was **really** trying to control himself.

"How did Schott know to use the kryptonite on Linda?" Superman asked calmly.

"He saw her using her abilities," Jimmy answered. "He figured out she was Kryptonian and that you've been hiding her for several months—and that she was the girl who threw that guy through the store window. He said he was going to turn her over to Lex…before I snuck up behind him and knocked him out with a metal bat; he should be out for a few hours."

"So, he never contacted Lex?" Superman asked. Jimmy shook his head. "Okay." He headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Jimmy asked.

"Well, first I have to go let Mom and Dad know what happened," Superman said, "and then I'll need to go to the warehouse." He shrugged. "Depending on things, I might have to reveal that Superman **has** been hiding his cousin on Earth for the past few months."

Jimmy blanched a little. "Clark, I'm really, really sorry."

"I know," Superman replied sadly. "Call Chloe; tell her to come over and keep an eye on things until I get back." He didn't wait for Jimmy's response before he walked out of the room.

* * *

Superman swooped through the sky above the Metropolis, trying to stay focused, but it was hard. He had just come from seeing his parents and informing them about what had happened with Jimmy and Linda. They had reacted…pretty much how the hero knew they'd react to hearing that the teenagers had lied about why Linda wanted to go to Metropolis—and that Linda had gotten shot in the process. The hero suppressed a shudder as he descended over Suicide Slums.

A group of officers stood next to police tape roping off a large section around an abandoned warehouse, keeping an eye on the crowd of reporters and civilians forming. Behind the tape, detectives and other officers were examining the building and gathering evidence. A familiar whooshing sound caused everyone to look up and see Superman descending; he landed on the other side of the tape near the officers.

"Is everything okay, officers?" Superman asked.

"Perhaps you could tell us," a female voice replied. Superman looked over as a familiar man and woman approached.

The woman had dark skin, eyes, and long hair pulled back into a ponytail of tight curls. She wore a bone-colored shaped jacket over a navy blouse, gray slacks, and sensible shoes; a police badge hung from her jacket pocket, and a police-issued firearm was visible under her jacket. She was slightly shorter than Linda, but Superman not to underestimate the woman's capabilities.

The man was well-built, about six feet tall, and he wore a brown business suit, the tie loosened and a kilter, and a long trench coat; brown hair was visible underneath a fedora, and he eyed Superman with a slightly condescending expression.

"Captain Sawyer," Superman nodded politely, "Inspector Turpin. What do you mean?"

"Why don't you come with us?" Sawyer suggested.

Superman followed the two officers into the warehouse and stopped short when he saw the damage inside. Broken and singed parts of robots littered the area, and an unscathed life-sized green nutcracker stood off to the side, its musket raised in a firing pose. Officers examined and photographed the area, while paramedics tended to a barely-conscious Winslow Scott, wrapping his head with bandages as the criminal mumbled incoherently.

"So, mind filling us in?" Turpin asked.

Superman couldn't decide if he was more shocked or impressed by the condition of the room; it almost reminded him of the destruction Linda had caused during her confrontation with Rudy Jones. "I think this speaks for itself," he said slowly before glancing at Schott as he was being loaded onto a gurney. "What's Schott have to say?"

"Only bits and pieces," Sawyer replied, "but what he has to say is very interesting."

"Oh?" Superman asked.

"He kept repeating 'he never plays fair,'" Sawyer answered, "'it was too dark—that's why he won.'"

"And he hits too hard," Schott mumbled as he was wheeled by on the gurney.

Superman raised an eyebrow, momentarily confused, then he inwardly smiled when the realization hit him. _Good girl, Linda._

"You wanna let us in on the joke?" Turpin asked, seeing the flicker in the hero's eyes.

Superman shook his head. "No joke, Turpin," he replied before taking a deep breath and letting it out, feeling a huge weight off his shoulders. "Well, if you two have everything under control, I'll be on my way."

"No so fast," Sawyer said. "We still have a few questions."

"Yes?" Superman asked cautiously.

"For starters," Sawyer replied, "how did you even know where to find Schott?"

"I'm sure you've had plenty of hunches you can't explain, Captain," Superman replied casually. "I've been piecing together information about Schott and was checking on a hunch."

"Did you know he was in possession of kryptonite?" Sawyer asked, lowering her voice.

"Not until he tried to use it on me," Superman answered, trying not to sound annoyed.

"Then where's the missing bullet is?" Turpin asked bluntly.

"Excuse me?" Superman asked.

"We recovered two bullets from the nutcracker," Sawyer replied, "and they will be secured, but the gun had been recently fired."

"And there's no sign of a third," Turpin said, folding his arms.

"Why do I have a feeling that you two think I'm hiding something?" Superman asked, no longer hiding his annoyance.

"Okay," Sawyer said slowly; the gloves were apparently coming off, but she still wanted to tread carefully. "For starters, you're usually fast enough to avoid security cameras, but the one outside was melted—as if the person who did it didn't want to be seen. Second, the door we came through had been picked, but we couldn't find any prints—period: the door and knob had been completely wiped clean. Third, the scene is a bit more chaotic than what we've usually seen during your particular confrontations."

"Including a Louisville Slugger found at Schott's feet," Turpin added. "Had his blood on it, but—surprise, surprise—wiped clean of any prints."

"Fourth, a missing kryptonite bullet," Sawyer continued, "but there doesn't appear to be a scratch on you."

"But what's most interesting is what Schott told us," Turpin said.

"You don't believe his side of the story?" Superman asked.

"Not sure," Saywer answered. "When a couple of my officers were interrogating him, he said he'd already told 'the other cop' everything; gave us a generic description—talk, well-built, dark clothes—but we've already confirmed through dispatch that my officers **were** the first responders."

"Maybe someone forgot to check in," Superman replied.

"Or maybe someone knows something he isn't telling us," Turpin retorted.

"And what would that be, Inspector?" Superman asked, frowning.

"Oh, I don't know," Turpin answered, his tone sarcastic. "I'm thinking female, blonde, average height, and a similar penchant for primaries."

"How many times do I have to tell you I don't know anything about that girl?" Superman replied, undeterred as he folded his arms.

"And we don't buy it," Turpin retorted.

"Dan," Sawyer warned her partner, who stayed silent before Sawyer faced the hero; her expression softened a little as she dropped her voice. "Look, Superman, if you know anything, we can help—and it won't go beyond us—but you have to be honest with us"

"Schott's already told you what happened," Superman replied curtly. "If you choose not to believe that, then I can't help you. Good day." He brushed past the officers and headed out of the warehouse.

"He's hiding something, Maggie," Turpin said.

"I know," Sawyer answered, "but unless we have proof, our hands our tied." Turpin muttered under his breath, but he left it at that as he and his partner went back to their investigation.

(End of Chapter 15)


	16. Chapter 16

_(This next part has been divided into two chapters because of length)_

"…but I made them give me one with pickles, just for you Come on, Jimmy, going hungry isn't helping her."

"And she wouldn't even **need** help if I hadn't screwed up," Jimmy mumbled softly.

Chloe glanced at Linda as she rested under Jimmy's blanket. The young girl's breathing was slow and steady, her cheeks pale; if Chloe didn't know the circumstances she would have figured Linda was simply recovering from the flu. The reporter sighed softly and gingerly sat on the other side of the bed; she stared across at Jimmy, who hadn't left the young girl's side since Chloe's arrival. The photographer appeared lost, eyes swimming with a tempered fear, his face a sickly grayish-green as he kept his focus on the young girl.

"This wasn't your fault," Chloe replied. "Everyone knows you didn't mean for any of this to happen, and that you wouldn't want her hurt for the world; beating yourself up is just wasting energy."

"Well, I got nothing else to do," Jimmy replied bitterly. The two heard a small moan, and looked to see Linda stirring.

"I'll be in the living room if you need me," Chloe said softly as she got to her feet and left.

"Linda?" Jimmy said softly, cautiously edging closer to the young girl. Linda slowly opened her eyes, and Jimmy was a little startled to see how pale they were. The young girl looked dazed as she slowly scanned the room, confused. Her gaze fell on Jimmy, and she stared at him for a few seconds; her eyes widened as she quickly sat up and all but threw herself at her friend. She wrapped her arms around him tightly as she cried into his shoulder.

"It's okay," Jimmy said reassuringly, holding her close.

"I was so scared," Linda sobbed.

"I know," Jimmy replied somberly. "It's all my fault, and I'm so sorry."

Linda pulled back—her eyes puffy and cheeks streaked with tears—and looked confused. "You didn't shoot me, Jimmy."

"No, it was just my idea to look for Schott," Jimmy replied bitterly. "I might as well have pulled the trigger." He glanced down and noticed his blanket had slipped around Linda's waist, exposing her top half; she was still wearing her bralet, but Jimmy still averted his gaze as he discreetly grabbed the blanket and carefully wrapped it around her. "There."

"Thanks," Linda said softly as she glanced around, finally noticing her surroundings. "Where are we?"

"My apartment," Jimmy replied slowly, self-conscious, "and this is my room."

"It's nice," Linda said as she looked around. The place was a lot more cluttered than her room: a pile of clothes—with the tattered and blood-stained remains of her shirt and a blood-stained towel on top—shoved in one corner near the dresser (which was cluttered with various things, including a small T.A.R.D.I.S. replica), and photos and photography equipment on the desk next to a pile of schoolbooks and a laptop. Covering his walls were a couple of posters of last year's lineups for the Metropolis Sharks and Metropolis Monarchs and three framed black and white abstract photos of various places in the city; the young girl just stared on the three photos, impressed, before something out of the corner of her eyes glistened; Linda looked over and saw something with a gold dragon head leaning against the back wall of the closet.

"What's that?" she asked softly.

Jimmy glanced over his shoulder and snorted a little. "Just something I got a long time ago," he replied softly before turning back to Linda. "How are you feeling—really?"

"My shoulder's a little sore," Linda admitted, "and I don't feel too hot," she shrugged slightly, "but I'll be okay." She tried smiling, but it came out as a grimace; when she noticed Jimmy's sour expression, she sighed. "Jimmy, it's not your fault; you didn't know Schott would have kryptonite."

"Doesn't change the fact that you nearly died," Jimmy replied, "or that Schott now knows about you—and I doubt he's going to keep quiet." He shook his head, looking angry and sick to his stomach at the same time. "Every person who has a grudge against Superman—Lex included—is going to try and find out who that girl is...and it's all my fault."

"No, it isn't," Linda said. "Schott can talk all he wants, but it won't matter."

"How can you say that?" Jimmy asked in disbelief. "You honestly don't think—" He suddenly stopped as the realization hit him. "You messed with his memories, didn't you?"

Linda nodded. "Used the last of my strength before I passed out; made him think he'd fought Clark." She tried to smile, even as her chin quivered a bit. "Clark's going to be furious when he finds out what happened."

"Not as much as you'd think," Jimmy replied. Linda's eyes slowly widened in terror, realizing what he meant; as she shook her head, but the photographer put his hands on her upper arms, carefully avoiding her injured shoulder. "Linda, I tried to get you here myself, but you were dying…and I didn't know what else to do."

"Where is he now?" Linda asked, trying not to panic as she pictured her cousin's angry face.

"He said he was going to tell your parents what happened," Jimmy answered, "and then check out the warehouse." Linda's eyes grew as big as dinner plates as she started hyperventilating, her eyes darting from side to side; Jimmy quickly moved his hands to cup her face before she went into full-blown panic mode. "Linda, calm down."

"I can't," Linda said, her breathing shallow and rapid, her heart pounding. "They're gonna be angry, really angry."

Jimmy was a little confused, then it clicked; he took a deep breath and leaned forward, only an inch between their faces. "Linda, look at me." Linda slowly met his gaze. "They're not your father."

Tears welled up in Linda's eyes as she stared into Jimmy's eyes; she knew he was right, but it was hard not to feel terrified after years of living in fear and abuse. "They're still going to be mad," she said softly.

"Probably," Jimmy replied, "but they're also not the type to go kamikaze on their daughter after she was shot." He shrugged, sighing. "Maybe next time I'll take the bullet."

"How about next time **no one** takes a bullet," Linda replied, slightly annoyed. She knew Jimmy was just joking, but she wasn't in the mood for it. "So, how did Clark get it out?" Jimmy suddenly dropped his hands and got to his feet; he walked over to his window and stared out, keeping his back to her. "Jimmy?" Getting no response, Linda held the blanket in place around her shoulders as she took a deep breath and slowly stood up, wincing through the pain and stiffness; she approached him. "Jimmy, what happened?"

"Clark didn't get the bullet out," the photographer said softly, "I had to." Linda furrowed her eyebrows, confused, but she stayed quiet. "When Clark showed up at the warehouse, I saw the kryptonite affecting him as soon when he came within two feet of you, but he pushed through the pain so he could help you. He picked you up, and I held onto his neck before he took off; he barely made it here and put you on my bed—and told me I was gonna have to take the bullet out myself." He turned around, and Linda saw his eyes bright, his chin quivering ever so slightly. "I had to use a knife to cut open your shoulder because your skin was already healing around the bullet, and then use a pair of pliers to dig it out." He shook his head, lowering his gaze. "Your family has every right to go kamikaze on me for doing that to you."

"You saved my life," Linda said, edging closer to Jimmy until they were inches apart. Jimmy wouldn't look her at her, so Linda used her free hand and touched his cheek; Jimmy slowly met her gaze. "I don't think they're going to go kamikaze on you, either." She saw the relief wash over Jimmy's face as he closed his eyes and put his hand over hers, his fingers intertwining with hers like a child clinging to a treasured item for security.

When Jimmy opened his eyes, he saw Linda staring at him with concern and tenderness, still holding her hand against his cheek. Jimmy mirrored Linda's action and cupped her cheek with his free hand and gently leaned toward her; they closed their eyes as their lips brushed ever so slightly. A muffled sound outside the bedroom startled the teenagers, and they quickly pulled away, dropping their hands; a moment later, Clark rushed in, looking concerned.

The reporter stopped short, seeing his cousin awake and alert instead of laying in bed, unconscious; he furrowed his eyebrows when he saw Linda and Jimmy standing close together, looking slightly embarrassed, but Clark quickly pushed that aside and hurried over. "Are you okay?" he asked as he hugged Linda tightly.

"I'm fine, Clark," Linda replied, her voice wavering as she leaned against her cousin, hugging him with her free arm, trying not to cry as she squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm sorry."

"I know," Clark said softly as he pulled back and looked down at her. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Linda would have normally been annoyed by his persistent questioning, but at the moment she couldn't imagine her life without it."My shoulder hurts," she admitted.

Clark gently pulled back the blanket and carefully examined her shoulder. Aside from the blood on her clothing, there was no outward sign she'd even been shot; a quick use of his x-ray vision showed her muscle and tissue had completely healed. "Well," he said, relieved, as he switched back to normal vision, "there's no permanent damage."

"That'll change with Mom and Dad," Linda mumbled.

(End of Chapter 16)


	17. Chapter 17

Clark sighed and led Linda over to the bed; they both sat down on the edge. "Well, they weren't happy when I told them what happened," he replied honestly, "but they were more relieved to hear you were safe."

"So, I won't be grounded?" Linda asked with slight hope.

"No, I have a feeling you're going to be grounded," Clark answered, and he smiled a little when Linda groaned softly; she was definitely on the mend. After a few moments, the reporter sighed, his smile fading. "And we'll talk about that more when we go home, but we need to talk about a few things." He glanced at the bedroom door. "Chloe, can you come here?"

"Chloe's here?" Linda asked.

Chloe appeared in the doorway a moment later. "Yeah, Clark?" She smiled a little at Linda. "Hey, kiddo, how're you feeling?"

Linda shrugged. "I'll survive." She looked at her cousin. "When did she show up?"

"While you were unconscious," Chloe answered. "Tried to get Jimmy to eat something," she glanced at Jimmy, who looked away, embarrassed, "but he wouldn't leave your side."

Clark saw the playful twinkle in his friend's eyes and sighed. "Chloe, when I was at the warehouse," he replied, trying to refocus the reporter's attention, "our favorite S.C.U. duo was already there investigating."

"Ooh, I bet that went well," Chloe said, wincing a little.

"It was informative," Clark replied. "Schott was conscious, too, and he had **quite** a few things to say."

"Please tell me the Girl of Metropolis isn't going to be finding herself back on the Planet's front page," Chloe said, looking concerned.

"No," Clark replied. "Schott thinks he fought and shot at me with the kryptonite." He smiled proudly at Linda as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her forehead. "I know Mom and Dad don't really approve of it, but good thinking."

"He mentioned he was working with Lex," Linda replied. "I just panicked."

"Why would Lex be working with Schott after the guy tried to kill him?" Chloe asked.

"Not sure," Clark answered before glancing at Jimmy. "How did you two find Schott in the first place?"

"I…might have hacked into the S.T.A.R. Labs satellite system," the photographer answered slowly, shuffling his feet.

"We'll discuss that later," Clark said, trying to stay calm, "but why would you have the need to do that?"

"I had a hunch Schott stole that shipment of titanium from Lex," Jimmy replied. "We used the satellite to trace it."

Clark sighed and closed his eyes briefly. "Okay," he said simply. "Well, the good news is, Linda appears to have wiped any memory of you being at the scene."

"And the bad news?" Jimmy asked cautiously.

"Sawyer and Turpin don't seem to be buying it," Clark replied, "but they don't seem to be pressing it—for now."

"Does this mean I have to stay out of Metropolis again?" Linda asked worriedly.

"We'll talk about that later," Clark answered. "Right now, we have another concern: you may have wiped any memories of yourself and Jimmy, but any physical evidence of your presence—fingerprints, blood, clothes—disappeared." Linda and Jimmy looked confused, then Linda's eyes widened.

"My jacket was missing?" she said softly, remembering.

"Yeah," Clark replied, "which can only mean one thing: someone else was there."

"Who?" Chloe asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Don't know," Clark answered. "Sawyer said Schott was questioned by a man posing as an officer—which he wasn't—and described him as 'tall, well-built, wearing dark clothes.'"

"Yeah, we'll track him down in no time," Chloe said wryly.

"I screwed up bigtime," Jimmy muttered as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"No," Clark said. "No one screwed up," he saw Linda and Jimmy's expressions, "okay, maybe you did, but not with this guy."

"You think Mom and Dad will believe that?" Linda asked.

"I think until we know more," Clark replied slowly, "it might be best not to say anything; we won't have any answers, and they'll just be worried."

"Wait, are you actually suggesting keeping something from our parents?" Linda asked.

"For the time being," Clark replied, "and in no way does this constitute any endorsement of you," he nodded at Jimmy, "or you keeping secrets about other things."

"Well, in that case," Jimmy replied, crossing his arms, "I have something you might be interested in: Linda's been having more visions."

"What?" Clark asked, looking at his cousin with a worried expression. "Linda, is this true?"

"Visions?" Chloe asked, confused. "What visions?"

"Jimmy, you promised you wouldn't say anything," Linda said, looking betrayed.

"Yeah, well all bets are off when one of them causes you to get hurt," Jimmy retorted.

"What visions?" Chloe repeated, a little confused.

"I'll explain later," Clark replied before looking at Linda with a serious expression. "Linda, is that true?"

Linda shot Jimmy a brief glare, but he simply stared back at her, his jaw and features set. "And what if it is?" she asked her cousin, never taking her eyes from the photographer.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Clark asked, glancing between the teenagers.

"Because it's no big deal," Linda replied, trying to sound convincing. "They're just flashes of things, and they're not even real: I've never been in a tube, I've never been on any beach—much less one with pink water and teal sand—and I never saw anyone get murdered."

"Wait, you saw someone getting killed?" Jimmy asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"It wasn't real," Linda snapped insistently. "Don't you think I'd remember seeing someone getting killed right in front of me?"

Jimmy opened his mouth to say something, but Clark held up a hand, giving him a look. The photographer stopped and sighed, but remained silent; he sighed and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.

"Regardless of whether or not it's real is beside the point, Linda," Clark said gently. He knew Linda was freaking out by what was going happening, and lashing out and snapping was her attempt to cover it up—much like all the times he used to do the same thing when he was her age; the reporter knew from experience he had to tread carefully. "This isn't normal, Linda—for anyone—but we will help you figure this out if you let us."

Linda opened her mouth to say something, but as she glanced between her cousin, Chloe, and Jimmy—seeing their concerned expressions—and she sighed, resigned. "Okay," she said softly.

"I take it Mom and Dad don't know," Clark continued; he wasn't surprised when Linda shook her head. "Okay. Is there anything else I should know about?"

Linda glanced at Clark, then looked over at Jimmy; he looked right at her, unwavering; she knew—even without telepathy—that Jimmy would talk if she didn't. "There is something else," she said softly. "It's about the Kawatche caves: Jimmy and I think we found a connection to Dr. Swann's rice paper."

(End of Chapter 17)


	18. Chapter 18

The Kent house was unusually quiet as Martha and Jonathan sat at the kitchen table, staring at the polished wood; two mugs of tea sat near their arms, untouched. The two had been there ever since Clark had come to them and let them know what had happened with Linda and Jimmy; the reassurance that both teenagers were safe did little to allay Jonathan's and Martha's concerns, but they had trusted their son to take care of everything until he returned.

Jonathan glanced over and saw his wife looking numb, her eyes bright with tears; he could tell she was replaying everything Clark had told them, silently worrying. The farmer reached over and took her hand, holding it gently. "Martha, Clark said they're fine," he said softly, "and he's bringing them home right now."

"I know," Martha replied, her voice wavering slightly.

"Then what's wrong, honey?"

"I'm worried for Jimmy," Martha said. "He had to take the bullet out all by himself." She shook her head, biting her lip to keep from crying. "He must have been so scared…."

"I know," Jonathan replied somberly. A familiar whooshing sound caught their attention, and the two looked over at the door as they stood up, but they stayed near the table, anxiously waiting; a few seconds passed before the door opened and Clark walked in, followed by Jimmy and Linda. As soon as Martha and Jonathan saw the teenagers, they crossed the kitchen; Martha reached her daughter first and enveloped the young girl with her arms, hugging her tightly.

"I'm sorry, Mom," Linda said, hugging Martha, trying not to cry.

"I know," Martha replied, holding back her own tears as she pulled back, cupping Linda's face in her hands and visually checked her daughter. "Are you okay?" Linda nodded but kept quiet as a few tears fell down her cheeks. Martha stared at Linda for a few moments before hugging her again. When they finally parted, Linda glanced up at Jonathan and saw his concerned expression; wordlessly, she hugged his waist, burying her head in his chest as he wrapped his arms securely around her. Jonathan felt a lump forming in his throat as he rested his chin on his daughter's head; he closed his eyes and sighed with relief.

Jimmy stayed off to one side, watching the trio with the reporter, wondering why he'd let Clark talk him into coming back to the farm; the photographer knew he didn't really belong there, no matter what Clark—or Linda, for that matter—had reassured him. The teenager stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, hanging his head and debating between bolting for the door and figuring out how to dissolve into the cabinetry and disappear.

"Jimmy?"

Jimmy looked up and saw Martha standing in front of him. Before he could react, Martha hugged him gently; the teenager stiffened and kept his arms at his side, not sure how to react.

"Thank you," Martha said, not letting go.

Jimmy never had any doubts about his own mother caring about him, but in that moment he found himself actually angry that she wasn't there—not that he could actually talk to her about what had happened; it was stupid, but Jimmy couldn't help it. He felt his strength dissolving as he slowly put his arms around Martha, clinging to her as he quietly sobbed into her shoulder; Martha stayed silent, gently rubbing the teenager's back.

Some time passed before Martha heard Jimmy quieting, and she gently pulled back; the teenager appeared exhausted, his eyes red and puffy, but Martha could tell a tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders; she gently cupped his face in her hands, using her thumbs to blot his tears before kissing his forehead.

"Feel better?" Martha asked softly. Jimmy knew the others were still there and had seen him crying; he felt a little embarrassed at being the center of attention like that, but strangely calm as well.

"Why don't we go sit down?" Jonathan suggested.

"I'll get make some tea," Clark offered and went to the cabinets while the others walked to the table. He grabbed three mugs and filled them up with water from the tap before retrieving three teabags from a nearby canister. He zapped the water with his heat vision before adding the teabags and let them seep as he took them over to the table, handing one to each of the teenagers before sitting at the end of the table. For a long time, everyone sat in silence, Jimmy and Linda cradled their mugs in their hands, letting the warmth seep into their bodies.

"So, who wants to start?" Jonathan asked softly, deciding it was time to break the silence.

"Look, it was my fault," Jimmy replied as he put his mug down. "I was the one who thought up the whole thing—I convinced Linda to come to Metropolis."

"Maybe," Jonathan said gently, "but Linda didn't have to go along with it," he glanced at the teenagers knowingly, "especially when you two lied to us about why you wanted to go in the first place."

"So, how grounded am I?" Linda asked cautiously.

Jonathan glanced at Martha, who nodded slightly; the farmer took a deep breath and let it out. "Well," he said slowly, "your mother and I feel that—"

"Mr. Kent," Jimmy interrupted, "I don't think Linda should be grounded." Jonathan raised an eyebrow, and Jimmy swallowed nervously but continued. "Uh, I mean…given everything that's happened, don't you think we've—I mean, she's—been through enough?"

Martha and Clark glanced at Jonathan, looking slightly amused—even if the farmer didn't. He just stared at Jimmy for a few moments before sighing. "I was going to say," he said, "Mrs. Kent and I feel that, in light of everything that's happened, we're not going to ground Linda—this time—but it doesn't mean she's off the hook," he gave Jimmy a look, "and neither are you."

"I'm not?" Linda asked, surprised.

"I'm not?" Jimmy asked, confused. "Does that mean you're gonna tell Mom what happened?"

"No, it simply means you two are going to be staying here for the rest of the weekend," Martha answered. "That means getting some rest, doing chores, and you can't leave the property unsupervised before Sunday evening when Jimmy goes back to Metropolis—with Clark." Jimmy and Linda glanced at each other, surprised and a little relieved, but they decided not to comment; they knew they were getting off **really** easy.

"Now, that being said," Jonathan continued, "we would like to talk to you two about what happened at the cave the other day: you told us you just explored…is that really true, or was that another lie?" Jimmy opened his mouth, but Linda held up her hand.

"I think I should explain this," the young girl said, "all of it." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she told her parents everything: the visions she'd been having, the Flamebird dream and waking up in the cave, and finding the hidden room with Jimmy. When she finished, she glanced at her parents, who just stared at her in disbelief and worry.

"Linda, why didn't you say anything earlier?" Martha asked, trying not to sound upset.

"I didn't want to worry you," Linda answered honestly. "I thought Jimmy and I could figure it out on our own." She shook her head, blinking back tears as she took a deep breath; one tear managed to escape and fall down her cheek, but she quickly wiped it away. "I'm sorry."

"Hello?"

Everyone looked over and saw Oliver standing in the doorway, with Bruce behind him; both men were dressed in crisp business suits, and Oliver carried a leather briefcase. They tried to appear professional, but they both knew that they were interrupting something—they just weren't sure what.

"Bruce," Jonathan said as he and the other adults got to their feet, "Oliver, what brings you two here?"

"Clark contacted us a couple hours ago," Bruce replied as he followed Oliver into the kitchen, "told us to come out here."

"But if this is a bad time," Oliver countered slowly as he glanced between the adults and teenagers, "we can come back later." He could feel the tension in the atmosphere and was insanely curious about what had happened, but he knew best not to pry..

"No, it's fine," Clark reassured. "Come on in, guys."

"Clark, what's going on?" Martha asked.

"It was my idea," Linda replied as she stood up, "I asked Clark to call them while we were at Jimmy's."

"What for?" Jonathan asked.

"Did you guys bring them?" Linda asked the two businessmen as they came over.

"Right here," Oliver replied as he walked over to the table and set his briefcase on it; he opened it up and removed a stack of papers, "drawn up and ready to go as soon as you," he glanced at Jonathan and Martha, "and your parents sign."

"Sign what?" Jonathan asked suspiciously.

"I've decided to accept Bruce and Oliver's offer of employment," Linda answered before looking back at Oliver and Bruce. "And you both accept my terms?"

"Bruce thought you were pushing it," Oliver replied, "but they were pretty reasonable; we've agreed to honor them."

"Wait a minute," Jonathan said, holding up his hand. "Would someone please tell me what's going on?"

"Linda, we were under the impression you wanted nothing to do with this," Martha added, a little confused.

"I didn't," Linda replied honestly.

"Then what changed?" Jonathan asked.

"Getting shot," Linda answered simply. "When I was laying on the ground with a kryptonite bullet in my shoulder, I kept thinking about how I'd screwed up—really screwed up—and how much trouble it was going to cause for everyone else; that's why I wiped Schott's mind—and, yes, I know I wouldn't have had to if I hadn't been there in the first place—but what really freaked me out was know that he'd been working for Lex this whole time, and none of us knew," Bruce opened his mouth, but Linda stopped him, "even if Bruce had his suspicions." The young girl would have smiled at the slightly sour expression on Bruce's face, but she decided not to.

"I still don't see why the sudden change of heart," Martha said.

"Because Lex is still out there trying to find out who the Girl of Metropolis is," Linda answered, "and, according to Clark, so are the S.C.U. I thought Bruce and Oliver were making the offer to keep an eye on me," she glanced at them briefly, "and it still is—to an extent—but they know what Lex is capable of," she shrugged, "and they honestly want to protect me from that."

"Linda," Jonathan said, sounding slightly defensive, "this family had been doing a pretty good job of keeping you safe without the assistance of two corporate CEOs," he looked at Bruce and Oliver, "regardless of their capabilities."

"No one's arguing that point, Mr. Kent," Bruce spoke up, "but Lex has been doing some digging around into Linda's past. Now, Miss Sullivan has done an impressive job of covering all aspects of Linda's backstory, and Oliver and I have been monitoring it to keep track of who looks into it; Lex has done more than a fair share of 'research.'"

"Do you think he suspects anything?" Martha asked.

"Doubtful," Bruce answered. "Everything he's looked into has panned out, but what else we've found has been concerning."

"What did you find?" Jonathan asked.

"Lex has suddenly shown an interest in the fine arts," Oliver replied. "We've intercepted several correspondence between him and different levels of his corporation."

"About what?" Martha asked.

"Linda," Bruce answered. "Ever since he's become aware of our proposal, he's been working on a counter offer—and he's willing to pay her double what we offered."

"Twenty million dollars just for a teenage girl to make art for him?" Jonathan asked, incredulously.

"We all figure Linda would be safer under our employment," Oliver replied. "Lex won't be able to touch her," he held up the papers, "but we have to do this legally, and that requires your signatures."

"Linda, is this something you really want?" Martha asked.

Linda nodded. "I know this won't keep me completely off Lex's radar," she said, "but I do trust Oliver and Bruce," she shrugged, "and they agreed to my terms, so that's a plus."

"What terms?" Jonathan asked, folding his arms.

"Linda will be required to create a piece for each of us once a month," Oliver said, "as well as make a social appearance promoting her work at our discretion—no more than five a year—and we'll schedule them at a time when she's not in school; if more are required, we'll give you a heads up. In return, Linda will be given an expense account to buy her supplies, as well as a local studio to sell her own work."

"And I get to buy my own dresses," Linda added, "plus make a little money on the side doing something I enjoy."

"Like a ten million dollar bank account isn't enough," Clark muttered with an amused smile. Linda shot him a look, but she was smiling.

"Linda won't be able to withdraw any of the money without an adult present," Oliver added. "That means you, Clark, or one of your parents."

"Won't this interfere with your chores," Martha asked cautiously, "and your homework?" She trusted Bruce and Oliver, but she was still a little hesitant to agree to something so monumental.

"I can complete everything in less than a minute on a heavy homework night," Linda said. She glanced between her parents, seeing their uncertain expressions, and she sighed. "Look, I know you have every reason to say no—given I haven't exactly been honest lately…or made some of the best decisions—but I really think this is best, given the situation."

Martha and Jonathan glanced between each other; Linda was tempted to scan their minds, but decided that would be **another** bad decision in a long list of bad decisions. She watched them share their private look for what seemed like an eternity until Martha finally shrugged, as if to say to her husband 'I'll support your decision.' Jonathan nodded and turned to his daughter.

"We have a few terms of our own," he said

"What?" Linda asked.

"First, I don't want this to go to your head," Jonathan replied. "This is a business deal for your protection, not an inheritance for you to spend at your own whim."

"I understand," Linda said.

"Second, you will be expected to keep up your schoolwork and chores," Jonathan continued. "If you can't, we'll rework the terms of the proposal to something more manageable."

"Okay," Linda nodded.

"That being said," Jonathan finished as he looked up at the businessmen, "where do we sign?" Linda smiled as she hurried over and hugged her father tightly around his waist; Jonathan smiled as he hugged her in return. After pulling away, Oliver handed Jonathan the papers and a pen; Jonathan and Martha sat down to quietly read every the entire contract, allowing Clark and the others to venture into the living room.

"So, now what?" Linda asked.

"Well, you have your first assignment," Oliver replied. "I purchased the old flower shop next to the Talon. It isn't being used anymore, and I figured it'd make a good gallery to showcase your works; lots of natural lighting." Linda looked confused, and Oliver simply smiled. "You're going to be in charge of designing how you want it to look; we'll get you blueprints, anything you need. Deal?"

"Okay, no problem," Linda replied as the gears in her head already started turning with potential ideas.

"Oh, Clark, before I forget," Oliver said, turning to the reporter, "Barry called me today; he wanted me to pass on a message to you."

"Oh?" Clark asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Oliver said 'Cisco says he knows the person who tried to hack the Central City STAR Labs system earlier today came from the Daily Planet, and if he finds out who it is, they're going to feel his wrath.'" He glanced at the young photographer, who appeared to be trying to blend into the wall. "Although, I'm guessing that message was probably aimed at you…."

(End of Chapter 18)


	19. Chapter 19

Jimmy slowly climbed the barn stairs, carrying a couple of mugs of steaming hot chocolate. It had been a few hours since the whole ordeal with Bruce and Oliver, and the photographer had to admit he was still reeling from the thought of Linda working for the two businessmen—and suddenly being ten million dollars richer was nothing to sneeze at either.

The photographer wasn't worried Linda would turn into a snob or anything like that—he knew the money was more about maintaining appearances than anything—but he was concerned that her newfound employment (and all the different responsibilities she was about to have) might be a little overwhelming. He reached the top and stopped, staring.

Linda sat on the loft couch, with her legs curled under her, her glasses resting on top of her head. She held a pencil securely in her hand as she stared down intently at a large sketch page in her lap; she moved the pencil slowly and methodically across the page as several colored pencils floated lazily around her head. Jimmy shook his head slightly, smiling.

"So, how's it coming?" he asked as he walked over. Linda looked over, startled, and the floating pencils suddenly dropped, landing on the floor and couch; Jimmy stopped, wincing. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Linda said quickly, trying not to look upset as she put her sketchpad and pencil down on the trunk, then waved her hand in a fluid motion; the pencils floated over to the desk and rested neatly on top. She sat up straighter and smiled as Jimmy came over and sat down. "So, what are you up to?"

"Just bringing you some hot chocolate," Jimmy replied, handing her one of the mugs. "Your mom even put in extra marshmallows."

Linda smiled as she took the offered mug and breathed in the wonderful aroma before casually drinking the hot liquid. She smacked her lips, smiling in satisfaction, before putting the mug on the trunk next to her sketchpad. "That was good," she said as she grabbed the sketchpad and pencil; as she leaned back against the couch, she realized that Jimmy was sitting rather close, but she didn't say anything as she went back to sketching.

After a few moments, Linda felt something brush slowly and repeatedly against her hair; it didn't take long to realize that Jimmy was gently stroking her hair with his fingers. She turned to look at him, confused. "What are you doing?" she asked slowly.

"Just thinking that we could probably finish what we started in my room," Jimmy said softly, "before Clark interrupted." He leaned toward her, and Linda's eyes widened slightly as she comprehended what Jimmy was talking about; she quickly scrambled to her feet and backed away, clutching her sketchpad to her chest. Jimmy stared at her, confused, then he realized why she looked panicked; he sighed. "And I'm guessing you don't."

"It's not that," Linda said, trying to sound calm as her heart pounded.

"Then what is it?" Jimmy asked as he got to his feet and he took a step toward her, but she backed up a couple of steps. The photographer furrowed his eyebrows, confused. "I don't get it. You had a slightly different reaction back in my room."

"I know," Linda replied, her voice slightly higher-pitched.

"So, what happened?" Jimmy asked, getting defensive. "What, I'm not good enough for you now because you suddenly got a bigger bank account?" He knew it wasn't the slightest bit true, even before he said it, but it had just slipped out—and he knew as soon as he'd said it that he'd made a huge mistake.

Linda's features hardened, except for her eyes; they were bright with tears and radiated a deep hurt that Jimmy hadn't never seen. "I was going to say," she replied before she paused and chuckled mirthlessly, "you know, it doesn't matter."

"Linda, I'm really sorry," Jimmy said sincerely. "I didn't mean—"

"Just go," Linda interrupted before she turned around. "Please."

Jimmy opened his mouth, but he stopped himself. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before he wordlessly headed for stairs. As he reached the top, he glance back at Linda; she remained unmoving, her back to him; resigned, the photographer hung his head as he made his way down the stairs. He stopped at the bottom as he heard the muffled sound of Linda sobbing; his stomach clenched as he closed his eyes, but he simply made his way out of the barn.

* * *

Several hours later, Linda slowly walked down the loft stairs, looking hurt and withdrawn, but a lot more composed. The uninterrupted solitude, aside from a brief visit by Martha (who hadn't pushed her daughter into talking), allowed Linda the opportunity to try and figure out what had happened. She had never considered the notion that Jimmy thought that way about her (and part of her still wondered if he really meant what he'd said), but she wasn't in the mood to dwell on it—and she definitely didn't want to talk or even see Jimmy at the moment. Her day had been eventful enough, and there was plenty on her plate at the moment that Jimmy was going to have to wait on the backburner.

Linda made it to the ground level and slowly headed toward the entrance when she spotted an object on top of her father's workbench. It wasn't very large or conspicuous in appearance—about the size of a small teddy bear, wrapped in plain brown paper with a plain gift tag taped to it—but the young girl knew it didn't belong there; curious, she walked over and saw her name on the gift tag in unfamiliar handwriting.

Linda's guard immediately went up as she glanced around, using her x-ray vision to sweep the area; satisfied that she was alone, she focused her vision on the package. The paper dissolved until the young girl could see inside, and she furrowed her eyebrows before switching quickly back to normal vision; she easily tore through the paper, revealing the contents of the package: the shredded remains of her jacket folded neatly, with a small notecard resting on top. Linda saw some more writing on it and picked it up, reading it:

 _Strength means nothing if you lack common sense. Be more careful next time._

Linda's pulse quickened as she stared at the notecard in disbelief. Her first reaction was to take everything to her family, but something in the back of her mind told her to stop and consider other options. The young girl mulled through the details: her sweater had been returned to her (and hadn't been found at the warehouse—Clark would have mentioned if it'd been discovered), the S.C.U. had said someone posing as a cop had questioned Schott, and the note seemed more cautionary than threatening; using that logic, Linda came to the conclusion that this mysterious figure—whoever he was—was most likely not a threat.

"Which means no one has to know about this," she said as she picked everything up, "not even Jimmy." She was curious about the person's identity and and vowed one day she'd find out who he was—but not at the moment. She simply blurred upstairs and stuffed everything into the back of one of her desk drawers before speeding downstairs and out of the barn.

THE END


End file.
